but said nothing about the fact that the invisible God created every man in His own image.
To be spirit, that is man's invisible glory. So when the concerned person stands out in the field, surrounded by all the witnesses, when every blossom says to him, "Re- member God!" then the man answers, "I shall certainly do that, little children, I shall worship Him; you, poor things, cannot do that." The erect one is consequently a worshipper. The upright walk was the distinction, but the ability to cast one's self down in worship, is still more glorious; and all nature is like the great staff of servants THE GLORY OF OUR COMMON HUMANITY 243 who remind the man, the master, to worship God. It is this which is expected, not that the man is to come and take over the control which is also gloriously appointed to him, but that in worshipping he is to praise the Crea- tor, which nature does not do, for it can only remind the human to do it. It is glorious to be arrayed like the lily; it is even more glorious to be the ruler who stands erect; but it is most glorious to be nothing through the act of worship.
To worship is not to rule, and yet worship is pre- cisely that whereby the man resembles God, and the fact of being able in truth to worship, is the superiority of the invisible glory above all creation. The pagan was not aware of God, and therefore he sought the resemblance in the fact of ruling. But the resemblance does not con- sist in this; no, on the contrary, it is then taken in vain. It is in truth only within the infinite difference, and therefore the act of worshipping is the resemblance with God, as it is the superiority over all creation. Man and God do not resemble each other directly, but conversely: only when God has infinitely become the eternal and omnipresent object of worship, and man always a wor- shipper, do they then resemble one another. If a man wishes to resemble God through the fact of ruling, then he has forgotten God, then God has gone away, and the man plays ruler in His absence. And paganism was like this, it was human life carried on in God's absence. Therefore paganism was still like nature; and the hardest thing that can be said about it is: it could not worship- even that simple, noble wise man, he could keep silent in wonder, but he could not worship. But the fact of being able to worship is not a visible glory, it cannot be seen; and yet the visible glory of nature groans, it implores the 244 ruler, it incessantly reminds the man that finitely he must not forget— to worship. Oh, how glorious to be human!
But so the concerned in his diversion with the lilies got something quite different to think of than his own concern; he came really to consider how glorious it is to be human. If he again forgets that in the worldly inter- crossing of the comparisons and the collision of the dis- tinctions between man and man: then it is not the fault of the lilies, since, on the contrary, it is because he has also forgotten the lilies, forgotten that there was something he was supposed to learn from them, and something he must finally remember to do for them. That is, if we were to characterize the worldly concern in a single word, must we not say: it is a concern about clothing, a concern about being seen? Just for that reason the edification through the invisible glory is the highest exaltation over worldly concern: the fact of worshipping is the glory, and also a favor, that is accorded the lily.
So much for the instruction of the lilies. We shall now consider how the concerned* learns from the bird how glorious it is to be human.
"The bird sows not, neither does it reap, nor gather in- to barns." The bird is without care for the necessities of life. But is this, then, really a perfection; is it a perfection to be carefree in danger, if one does not know it, does not know that it exists; is it a perfection to take assured steps —because one walks blindly, to walk confidently— because one is walking in his sleep! No. Then one must indeed say more truthfully that it is a perfection to know the danger, to see it before the eyes, to be awake: that it is a perfection to be able to have a care for the necessities of life— in order to overcome this fear, in order to let faith and confidence drive out fear, so that one is in truth with- THE GLORY OF OUR COMMON HUMANITY 245 out a care for the necessities of life in the unconcern of faith. For only this freedom from care on the part of faith is in the divine sense the soaring, whose beautiful but im- perfect symbol is the easy flight of the bird. Therefore we also speak of lifting ourselves on the wings of faith, and this wing-beat is in the divine sense the perfect, the wing- beat of the bird only a weak, a figurative foreshadowing. Moreover, as when the tired bird with weakened wing- beat slowly sinks to earth, so even the proudest, boldest flight of the bird is only earthly and temporal languor in comparison with the lofty soaring of faith, a slow sinking compared with the easy rise of faith.
We shall now consider this more carefully. Why does the bird have no worldly care for the necessities of life? Because it lives only in the moment, hence because there is no eternity for a bird. But is this indeed a perfection! On the contrary, how does the possibility of an anxiety about subsistence come about? From the fact that the temporal and the eternal touch one another in conscious- ness, or rather from the fact that the human has con- ciousness. In the possession of consciousness he is eter- nally far, far out beyond the moment; no bird flew so far away, and yet precisely thereby he becomes aware of the danger which the bird does not suspect: when eternity came into being for him, then the morrow also came into being. Through his consciousness he discovers a world which not even the most traveled bird knows: the future; and when this future through the consciousness is with- drawn in the moment, then a concern is discovered which the bird does not know; for however far it flew and from however far it returned, it never flew to the future and never returned from the future.
Since now the man has consciousness, he is the place 246 where the temporal and the eternal constantly touch one another, where the eternal interests itself in the temporal. Therefore time can seem long to a man be- cause he has the eternal in his consciousness, and with this he measures the moments; but time never seems long to the bird. Therefore the man has a dangerous enemy which the bird does not know: time. An enemy? Aye, an enemy or a friend whose aspirations or whose in- tercourse the man cannot avoid, because he has the eter- nal in his consciousness, and must therefore measure it. The temporal and the eternal can painfully touch one another in numerous ways in the human consciousness, but one of the contacts at which the man particularly winces is the care for the necessities of life. Its distance from the eternal seems so infinite; there is no ques- tion of filling out the time with some glorious achieve- ment, some great thought, some uplifting emotion, as in the hours of which one says that they are lived for eternity. Ah, no, there is only the question about the humble labor in the hours which are really absolutely lived for the temporal existence, the humble labor to pro- duce the conditions for existing temporally. But, never- theless, the fact of being able to have a care for the necessities of life is a perfection, and the expression of dejec- tion is merely the expression for man's elevation; for as high as God lifts up, so deeply does He also depress, but consequently, the fact of being profoundly depressed also indicates the fact of being highly exalted. And as God elevated the human being above the bird through the eternal in his consciousness, so He depressed him again lower than the bird, so to speak, through his knowledge of the anxiety, the earthly, humble anxiety, which the bird does not even know. Oh, how superior it seems for THE GLORY OF OUR COMMON HUMANITY 247 the bird not to have a care for the necessities of life— and yet, how far more glorious it is to be able to know this care.
The human can therefore indeed learn from the bird, he can also call the bird his teacher, but not, however, in the highest sense. As the bird is without care for the necessities, so fundamentally the child is also; and who is there who would not gladly learn from a child! And when an imagined or an actual need makes a man in his con- cern despondent, depressed, and dejected: oh, then he will willingly be soothed, willingly learn from a child; willingly, in his quiet, thankful mind, call the child his teacher. But if the child wished to accept the title and to speak instructively, then the parent would certainly say gently: "Oh, my dear child, that is something which you do not yourself understand." And if the child then in- sisted, the parent would say that it was a naughty child, and perhaps would not even hesitate to slap the teacher, and perhaps with justice, and why? Because seriously the parent is the child's teacher, and the child only in a play- ful sense of jesting earnestness the parent's teacher. But then it is indeed a perfection to be able to be anxious about the necessities of life, and the human is far superi- or, even if he willingly learns, according to the instruc- tion of the Gospel, from the bird, and in his quiet, thankful mind calls it his teacher.
The bird that is without subsistence cares, is then the symbol of the human, and yet the human, through being able to have these cares, is far more perfect than the symbol. Therefore the human never dares forget that the One who referred him to the bird of the air, as to a pi i- mary, a childish instruction, that precisely He in earnest- ness and truth is the real symbol, the true, essential 248 human symbol of perfection. For when it is said, "The birds of the air have nests and foxes have holes, but the Son of man has not where to lay his head," then there is mentioned a condition which is far more helpless than that of a bird, and is also itself conscious of this. But then, with the consciousness of this, to be without a nest, with- out a place in which to seek refuge, then— to be without anxiety: aye, this is the exalted image of creation, this is man's divine pattern. For the bird this pattern does not exist, nor for the child; but consequently the fact of being able to know this care for the necessities is a perfection. Is this not so?
We are accustomed to say that it is an advantage for a woman that as the weaker she cannot go to war; that it is an advantage for the prisoner that he cannot get out and risk his life; that it is an advantage for the sleeper that he sleeps unconscious of the danger; or we certainly say it is a perfection to be excluded from venturing to call the exalted his pattern! But why then is it said other- wise about the care for the necessities, as if the woman were more fortunate because it is particularly her hus- band who must earn the living; as if the prisoner were fortunate because the state supports him; as if that one were fortunate who acquired his wealth without effort; or as if that one were the most fortunate of all who, per- haps because of his wealth, was barred from calling the God-Man his pattern!
However, out in the field with the bird, the concerned cannot speak in this way; he looks at the bird and com- pletely forgets his imagined concern; he even forgets the actual need momentarily; he is soothed, aye, he is edified, but if the bird were to presume to speak an instructive word, then he would certainly reply: "My little friend, THE GLORY OF OUR COMMON HUMANITY 249 that is something you yourself do not understand," that is, he would himself become conscious that it is a perfec- tion to be able to feel a concern for the necessities of life.
"The bird sows not, it reaps not, nor does it gather in- to barns"; that is to say, the bird does not labor.
But is this then a perfection, not to work at all? Is it a perfection to steal the day-time in the same sense as sleep steals the night-time! For certainly the bird awakens early to song, and yet, yet when it has slept, it really awakens to dream; even its most beautiful song is indeed a dream about an unhappy love; and thus it sleeps and dreams its life away, a happy or a melancholy jest. But is this, how- ever, really a perfection; is it a perfection in the child that it plays and gets tired— as a man gets tired from working —and sleeps, and plays again! It is charming in the child —ah, who would not willingly learn from a child! And if the parent sometimes indeed does his work, but is not happy in doing it, moreover, is perhaps even dejected: oh, then he will readily be soothed by the child, will glad- ly learn from it, will readily in his quiet, thankful mind call the child a teacher. But he will not hesitate, if it becomes necessary, to rebuke the teacher, and he will do it justly. And why? Because the parent in the serious sense is the child's teacher, the child only in the charming sense of playful earnestness the parent's teacher.
The bird does not toil; its life in an innocent sense is in vain, and in an innocent sense it spends its life in vain. Is this indeed a perfection? Then is it also indeed an im- perfection in God that He works, that He works hitherto! Is it a perfection in the bird that in a time of scarcity it sits and dies of hunger, and knows nothing at all that it can do; that confused it lets itself fall to the ground and die? Ordinarily we do not speak in this way.
250 When a sailor lies in his boat and leaves everything to chance in the storm, and does not know anything at all to do, then we do not speak of him as a perfect sailor. But if the brave seaman knows how to steer, if with skill and energy and persistence he combats the wind and storm, works himself out of danger, then we admire him. If late in the forenoon we see a man who has arisen late, sluggish and yet hungry, waiting to get his food by chance, then we do not commend him; but if early in the morning we see the active worker, or even if we do not see him, see that he has already been there, that the fisherman has already been out with his net, that the herdsman has already put away his churn, then we commend the fisherman and the herdsman. To work is the perfection of the human. Through working the human being resembles God, who also works. And if, then, a man works for food, we shall not foolishly say that he supports himself; we shall rather say, simply in order to recall how glorious it is to be human: "He works with God for food. He works with God, hence he is God's fellow-worker." The bird is not that; it gets its food, but it is not God's fellow-laborer. The bird gets its food, just as out in the country a tramp gets support, but the servant who works for his food calls the master his fellow-worker.
The bird does not work— and yet it gets its food: is this a perfection in the bird? Ordinarily we say that he who does not work shall not eat; and God too says this. If then God makes an exception of the bird, then it is be- cause the poor bird cannot work. The poor bird cannot work— do we speak in this way about a perfection? Perfec- tion then consists in working. It is not as we inadequately represent it, a hard necessity to be obliged to work in order to live. Oh, no, it is a perfection, not to be a child THE GLORY OF OUR COMMON HUMANITY 251 throughout one's whole life, not always to have parents to care for one, both while they live and after they are dead. The stern necessity which, however, still precisely recognizes the perfect in the human, is needed only to force the man who will not by himself freely understand that the fact of working is a perfection, and who is there- fore unwilling to go to work. Even if, therefore, the so- called stern necessity were not there, it would still be an imperfection for a human being to refrain from working. It is said about the medals a king distributes that some wear the medal as an honor to themselves, others honor the medal by wearing it. So let us cite a great example, who can really be said to have honored the fact of work- ing: the Apostle Paul. If ever anyone might have been justified in wishing the day and the night doubly long- then certainly Paul. If ever anyone could have given each hour significance for the many— then certainly Paul. If ever anyone could have permitted himself to be support- ed by the congregation— then cert'ainly Paul: and yet he preferred to work with his own hands! As he humbly thanked God that he could boast of the honor of having been scourged, persecuted, insulted; as he humbly before God proudly called his chains a badge of honor, so he also found it an honor to work with his own hands; an honor with respect to the Gospel, that with a woman's beautiful and an apostle's holy modesty he dared say: "I have not earned a farthing through the preaching of the Word; I have not married a fortune through becoming an apostle; an honor, that with respect to the humblest man, he dared say: "I have not been exempt from any of the vicissitudes of life, nor have I through favor been ex- cluded from any of its advantages; I have also had the honor of working with my own hands!"
252 Oh, in the desperate, brilliant or pitiful wretchedness of worldly comparisons, where one knows equally as little what honor is as what perfection is: there one speaks cowardly or treacherously in another fashion. But out there in the field with the bird, there the concerned understands how glorious it is to work, and from that how glorious it is to be human. For that which makes the distinction is not that one works for wealth, another for bread, one to accumulate a surplus, another to guard against poverty; no, that which makes the difference is— that the bird cannot work.
But in this way the concerned, diverted by the bird, got something absolutely other than his own concern to think of; he came rightly to consider how glorious a thing it is to work, how glorious it is to be human. If, under the strain of toil, he again forgets this, oh, then perhaps that lovable teacher, the bird, will fly past him and remind him about the thing forgotten— if only he looks at the bird.
XI THE UNCHANGEABLENESS OF GOD TEXT The Epistle of James i: 1 7-2 1 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom can be no variation, neither shadow that is cast by turning. Of His own will He brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of first-fruits of His creatures. Ye know this, my beloved brethren. But let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath: for the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. Wherefore putting away all filthiness and overflowing of wickedness, receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls.
My hearer, you have listened to the reading of the text. How near at hand does it not seem now to turn our thoughts in the opposite direction, to the mutability of temporal and earthly things, to the changeableness of men. How depressing and wearisome to the spirit that all things are corruptible, that men are changeable, you, my hearer, and I! How sad that the change is so often for the worse! Poor human consolation, but yet a con- solation, that there is still another change to which the changeable is subject, namely that it has an end!
And yet, if we were to speak in this manner, especially in this spirit of dejection, and hence not in the spirit of an earnest consideration of corruptibility, of human inconstancy, then we would not only fail to keep close to the text, but would depart from it, aye, even alter it. For the text speaks of the opposite, of the unchangeableness of God. The spirit of the text is unmixed joy and gladness. The words of the Apostle, coming as it were from the lofty silences of the highest mountain peaks, are uplifted above the mutabilities of the earthly life; he speaks of the un- changeablensss of God, and of nothing else. He speaks of a 4father of lights', who dwells above, with whom there is no variableness, not even the shadow of any change. He speaks of *54 good and perfect gifts' that come to us from above, from this father, who as the father of 'lights' or light is infinitely well equipped to make sure that what comes from Him really is a good and perfect gift; and as a father He has no other ambition, nor any other thought, than invariably to send good and perfect gifts. And therefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be 'swift to hear'; not swift to listen to all sorts of loose talk, but swift to direct his attention upward, from whence comes invari- ably only good news. Let him be 'slow to speak'; for our ordinary human talk, especially in relation to these things, and especially that which comes first over our lips, serves most frequently only to make the good and perfect gifts less good and perfect. Let him be 'slow to wrath'; lest when the gifts do not seem to us good and perfect we become angry, and thus cause that which was good and perfect and intended for our welfare to become by our own fault ruinous to us — this is what the wrath of man is able to accomplish, and the 'wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God'. 'Wherefore put aside all filthiness and overflowing of wickedness' — as when we cleanse and decorate the house and bedeck our persons, festively awaiting the visit, that we may worthily receive the good and perfect gifts. 'And receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls.' With meekness! In truth, were it not the Apostle speaking, and did we not immediately obey the injunction to be 'slow to speak, slow to wrath', we might well be tempted to say: This is a very strange mode of speech; are we then altogether fools, that we need an admonition to be meek in relation to one who desires only our welfare? — it is as if it were meant to mock us, in this context to make use of the word 'meekness'. For suppose someone were about to strike me unjustly, and another stood by, and said admonishingly: 'Try to endure this treatment with meekness' — that would be straightforward speech. But imagine the friendliest of beings, one who is love itself; he has selected a gift for me, and the gift is good and perfect, as love itself; he comes to me and proposes to bestow this gift upon me — and then another man stands by and says admonishingly: 'See that you accept this treatment meekly!' And yet, so it is with us human beings. A pagan, and only a human being, the simple sage of antiquity, complains that whenever he proposed to take away from a man some folly or other, and so help him to a better insight, thus THE UNCHANGEABLENESS OF GOD 255 bestowing a benefit upon him, he had often experienced that the other became so angry that he even wished to bite him, as the simple sage said jestingly in earnest. Ah, and what has God not had to endure these six thousand years, what does He not endure from morning until night from each of mankind's many millions — for we are sometimes most wrath when He most intends our welfare. Indeed, if we men truly understood what conduces to our welfare, and in the deepest sense truly willed our own welfare, then there would be no need to admonish us to be meek in this connexion. But we human beings (and who has not verified this in his own experience) are in our relationship to God as children. And hence there is need of an admonition to be meek in con- nexion with our reception of the good and perfect — so thoroughly is the Apostle convinced that all good and perfect gifts come from Him who is eternally unchangeable.