hidden. For he is the friend of sinners. Let him but be- hold a sinner, and he not only stands still, opening his arms and saying "come hither," nay, but he stands — and waits, as did the father of the prodigal son; or he does not merely remain standing and waiting, but goes out to search, as the shepherd went forth to search for the strayed sheep, or as the woman went to search for the lost piece of silver. He goes — nay. he has gone, but an infinitely longer way than any shepherd or any woman, for did he not go the infinitely long way from being God to becoming man, which he did to seek sinners?
HI COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.
"Come hither!" For he supposes that they that 162 University of Texas Bulletin labor and are heavy laden feel their burden and their labor, and that they stand there now, perplexed and sighing — one casting about with his eyes to discover whether there is help in sight anywhere; another with his eyes fixed on the ground, because he can see no consolation; and a third with his eyes staring heavenward, as though help was bound to come from heaven — but all seeking. Therefore he say- eth: "come hither!" But he invites not him who has ceased to seek and to sorrow. — "C ome hither!" For he who invites knows that it is a mark of true suffering, if one walks alone and broods in silent disconsolateness, without courage to confide in any one, and with even less self-confi- dence to dare to hope for help. Alas, not only he whom we read about was possessed of a dumb devil. ^' No suf- fering which does not first of all render the sufferer dumb is of much significance, no more than the love which does not render one silent; for those sufferers who run on about their afflictions neither labor nor are heavy laden. Behold, therefore the inviter will not wait till they that labor and are heavy laden come to him, but calls them lovingly; for all his willingness to help might, perhaps, be of no avail if he did not say these words and thereby take the first step; for in the call of these words: "come hither unto me!" he comes himself to them. Ah, human compassion — sometimes, perhaps, it is indeed praise- worthy self-restraint, sometimes, perhaps, even true com- passion, which may cause you to refrain from questioning him whom you suppose to be brooding over a hidden afflic- tion; but also, how often indeed is this compassion but worldly wisdom which does not care to know too much! Ah, human 'compassion — how often was it not pure curi- osity, and not compassion, which prompted you to venture into the secret of one afflicted; and how burdensome it was — almost like a punishment of your curiosity — when he ac- cepted your invitation and came to you 1 But he who sayeth these redeeming words "Come hither!" he is not deceiving himself in saying these words, nor will he deceive you when •■Luke 11, 14.
Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 163 you come to him in order to find rest by throwing your burden on him. He follows the promptings of his heart in saying these words, and his heart follows his words; if you then follow these words, they will follow you back again to his heart. This follows as a matter of course — ah, will you not follow the invitation? — "C ome hither!" For he supposes that they that labor and are heavy laden are so worn out and overtaxed, and so near swooning that they have forgotten, as though in a stupor, that there is such a thing as consolation. Alas, or he knows for sure that there is no consolation and no help unless it is sought from him; and therefore must he call out to them "Come hither!"
"Come hither!" For is it not so that every society has some symbol or token which is worn by those who belong to it? When a young girl is adorned in a certain manner one knows that she is going to the dance: Come hither all ye that labor and are heavy laden — come hither! You need not carry an external and visible badge; come but with your head anointed and your face washed, if only you labor in your heart and are heavy laden.
"Come hither!" Ah, do not stand still and consider; nay, consider, consider that with every moment you stand still after having heard the invitation you will hear the call more faintly and thus withdraw from it, even though you are standing still. — "Come hither!" Ah, however weary and faint you be from work, or from the long, long and yet hitherto fruitless search for help and salvation, and even though you may feel as if you could not take one more step, and not wait one more moment, without dropping to the ground: ah, but this one step and here is rest! — "Come hither!" But if, alas, there be one who is so wretched that he cannot come? — Ah, a sigh is sufficient; your mere sigh- ing for him is also to come hither.
164 University of Texas BuUetin THE PAUSE 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 of them that labor and are heavy laden following the invita- tion, 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 "p7'ocul o procul este profani," rather than "come hither" — that gives pause which is in- finitely 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 in- sists 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 his- tory, history proper, as against Sacred History); for from history one cannot "learn" anything about him, the simple Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 165 reason being that nothing can be "known" about him. — He does not wish to be judged in a human way, from the re- sults 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 conse- quences 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 sam.e? Yes, verily, he is to- day, 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 Chris- tian 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.
166 University of Texas Bulletin 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 hav- ing been spoken by Christ in his glory. Nay, h e 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 pos- sibly 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 invita- tion.
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 rnan; 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 he said these words.
Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 161 b.
Can one from history* learn to know anything about Christ?
No. And why not? Because one cannot "know" any- thing at all about "Christ"; for he is the paradox, the ob- ject of faith, and exists only for faith. But all historic in- formation 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 some- thing else about him than what is strictly true, and there- fore 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 rea- sonable and real. Is it possible, then, to render reasonable "Kierkegaard's note: by history we mean here profane history, world history, history as such, as against Sacred History.
168 University of Texas Bulletin 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 mirar cles 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 con- trary, 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 suffi- ciently, made good its claim, and in fact history cannot ac- complish this in all eternity. However, as to the first part of the statement, it is true enough that his name is pro- claimed throughout the world — as to whether it is rever- enced, 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 as- suming 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 superla- tive: 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 Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 169 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 different category — one will find it impossible in the con- clusion suddenly to arrive at the new category "God"; that 5, one cannot make the consequence, or consequences, of — man's life suddenly prove at a certain point in the argu- lent that this man was God. If such a procedure were correct one ought to be able to answer satisfactorily a ques- tion 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 jase that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely >roved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily, astonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a few more centuries would be necessarj^ to prove that he was Grod. In that case we would be obliged to infer that people in the fourth century did not look upon Christ as God. and jtill less they who lived in the first century; whereas the certainty that he was God would grow with every century, ilso, 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 conclusion different in quality from what we started with? ts it not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's judgment become so altogether confused as to land in the rrong 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 rith an altogether different, in fact, infinitely different, itegory? A foot-print certainly is the consequence of jome creature having made it. Now I may mistake the rack for that of, let us say, a bird; whereas by nearer in- 170 University of Texas Bulletin spection, 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 be- tween 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 never- theless 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 Jesu? Christ by the help of historical information about the con- sequences of his life. Faith contends that this whole at- tempt is — b lasphemous. Faith contends that the onlj Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 171 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 Christi- anity— 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 — b 1 a s p h e m y.
With regard to a m a n 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 exam- iner as any half-baked teacher in Latin.
But strange! By the help of history, that is, by consid- ering 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 blas- phemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming hypo- thetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy con- sists 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 ar- Igument 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 be- comes 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 172 University of Texas Bulletin 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 blas- phemy.
"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 con- vert 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 some- thing 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 conse- quences 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 incom- parable lack of logic, and however incomparable one's view of history may be otherwise.
Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 173 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 noth- ing remarkable in his having lived, but his life was remark- able 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, infi- nitely remarkable, infinitely more remarkable than all pos- sible consequences. Just try to introduce that which is re- markable 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 twad- dling.
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 174 University of Texas Bulletin 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.
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 conse- quences of his life are more important than the fact of his having lived.