The Present Moment¹

Plato says somewhere in his "Republic" that things will go well only when those men shall govern the state who do not desire to govern. The idea is probably that, assuming the necessary capability, a man's reluctance to govern affords a good guarantee that he will govern well and efficiently; whereas a man desirous of governing may very easily either abuse his power and become a tyrant, or by his desire to govern be brought into an unforeseen situation of dependence on the people he is to rule, so that his government really becomes an illusion.

Plato says somewhere in his "Republic" that things will go well only when those governing the state do not want to govern. His point is probably this: if a man has the necessary ability, his reluctance to govern offers a good guarantee. He will govern well and effectively. By contrast, a man eager to govern may very easily abuse his power and become a tyrant. Or his desire to govern may unexpectedly make him dependent on the people he is supposed to rule. As a result, his rule becomes little more than an illusion.

This observation applies also to other relations where much depends on taking things seriously: assuming there is ability in a man, it is best that he show reluctance to meddle with them. To be sure, as the proverb has it: "where there is a will there is a way"; but true seriousness appears only when a man fully equal to his task is forced, against his will, to undertake it—against his will, but fully equal to the task.

This observation also applies to other situations where taking things seriously matters a great deal. If a man has the ability, it is best for him to be reluctant to get involved. Of course, as the proverb says: "where there is a will there is a way". But true seriousness appears only when a man fully capable of the task is forced to undertake it. He acts against his will, but he is fully capable of the task.

In this sense I may say of myself that I bear a correct relation to the task in hand: to work in the present moment; for God knows that nothing is more distasteful to me.

In this sense, I may say I have the right relationship to the task at hand: working in the present moment. For God knows that nothing is more distasteful to me.

Authorship—well, I confess that I find it pleasant; and I may as well admit that I have dearly loved to write—in the manner, to be sure, which suits me. And what I have loved to do is precisely the opposite of working in the present moment. What I have loved is precisely remoteness from the present moment—that remoteness in which, like a lover, I may dwell on my thoughts and, like an artist in love with his instrument, entertain myself with language and lure from it the expressions demanded by my thoughts—ah blissful entertainment! In an eternity I should not weary of this occupation.

Writing, well, I confess I find it pleasant. And I may as well admit that I have dearly loved to write, in the way that suits me. What I have loved doing is precisely the opposite of working in the present moment. What I have loved is precisely being far removed from the present moment. In that distance, I can dwell on my thoughts like a lover. Like an artist in love with his instrument, I can amuse myself with language. I can draw from language the expressions my thoughts demand. Ah, what blissful amusement! I could spend an eternity doing this and never grow tired.

To contend with men—well, I do like it in a certain sense; for I have by nature a temperament so polemic that I feel in my element only when surrounded by men's mediocrity and meanness. But only on one condition, viz., that I be permitted to scorn them in silence and to satisfy the master passion of my soul: scorn—opportunity for which my career as an author has often enough given me.

Arguing with men, well, I do enjoy it in a certain sense. For I am so argumentative by nature that I feel in my element only when surrounded by men's mediocrity and meanness. But only on one condition: I must be allowed to scorn them in silence. I must also be allowed to satisfy my soul's ruling passion: scorn. My career as a writer has often enough given me opportunities for scorn.

I am therefore a man of whom it may be said truthfully that he is not in the least desirous to work in the present moment—very probably I have been called to do so for that very reason.

So it can truthfully be said that I have no desire at all to work at the present moment. Very probably, I have been called to work now for that very reason.

Now that I am to work in the present moment I must, alas! say farewell to thee, beloved remoteness, where there was no necessity to hurry, but always plenty of time, where I could wait for hours and days and weeks for the proper expression to occur to me; whereas now I must break with all such regards of tender love.² And now that I am to work in the present moment I find that there will be not a few persons whom I must oblige by paying my respects to all the insignificant things which mediocrity with great self-importance will lecture about; to all the nonsense which mediocre people, by interpreting into my words their own mediocrity, will find in all I shall write; and to all the lies and calumnies to which a man is exposed against whom those two great powers in society: envy and stupidity, must of necessity conspire.

Now that I must work in the present moment, I must, alas, say goodbye to you, beloved distance. With you, there was no need to hurry, but always plenty of time. I could wait for hours, days, and weeks for the right expression to come to me. But now I must give up all such tender, loving care.² And now that I must work in the present moment, I find I must oblige quite a few people. I must pay my respects to all the trivial things that mediocrity will lecture about with such self-importance. I must also acknowledge all the nonsense that mediocre people will find in everything I write. They will find that nonsense by reading their own mediocrity into my words. And I must acknowledge all the lies and slander directed at a man against whom society’s two great powers must inevitably conspire: envy and stupidity.

Why, then, do I wish to work in the present moment? Because I should forever repent of not having done so, and forever repent of having been discouraged by the consideration that the generation now living would find a representation of the essential truths of Christianity interesting and curious reading, at most; having accomplished which they will calmly remain where they are; that is, in the illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy's toying with Christianity really is Christianity.

Why, then, do I want to work now? Because I would forever regret not doing so. And I would forever regret letting the following thought discourage me. At most, people today would find an account of Christianity’s essential truths interesting and curious reading. After reading it, they would calmly stay where they are. They would keep believing the illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy’s playing with Christianity really is Christianity.

In the New Testament the Savior of the World, our Lord Jesus Christ, represents the matter in this way: "Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.³"

In the New Testament, the Savior of the World, our Lord Jesus Christ, puts it this way: "The gate is narrow, and the path that leads to life is narrow. Few find it.³"

—Now, however, just to confine ourselves to Denmark, the way is as broad as a road can possibly be; in fact, the broadest in Denmark, for it is the road we all travel. At the same time it is in all respects a comfortable way, and the gate as wide as it is possible for a gate to be; for certainly a gate cannot be wider than to let all men pass through en masse:

Now, however, let us limit ourselves to Denmark. The road is as broad as any road could possibly be. In fact, it is the broadest in Denmark, because it is the road we all travel. At the same time, the road is comfortable in every respect. And the gate is as wide as any gate could possibly be. For surely no gate can be wider than one that lets everyone pass through all at once:

Therefore, the New Testament is no longer true.

So, the New Testament is no longer true.

All credit is due to the human race! For thou, oh Savior of the World, thou didst entertain too low an estimate of the human race, so that thou didst not foresee the exalted plan which, in its perfectibility, it may reach by steadily continued endeavor!

All credit goes to the human race! For you, O Savior of the World, thought too little of the human race. So you failed to foresee the lofty plan humanity may achieve through its capacity for perfection and steady, continued effort!

To such an extent, then, is the New Testament no longer true: the way is the broadest possible, the gate the widest possible, and we are all Christians. In fact, I may venture still further—I am enthusiastic about it, for you see I am writing a panegyric on the human race—I venture to assert that the average Jew living among us is, to a certain degree, a Christian just as well as we others: to such an extent are we all Christians, and to such an extent is the New Testament no longer true.

So this is how far the New Testament has ceased to be true: the path is as broad as possible. The gate is as wide as possible, and we are all Christians. In fact, I may dare to go further. I am enthusiastic about it, for, you see, I am writing in praise of the human race. I dare to say that the average Jew living among us is, to some extent, a Christian just like us. That is how completely we are all Christians, and how completely the New Testament has ceased to be true.

And, since the point is to find out all which may be adduced to extol the human race, one ought—while having a care not to mention anything which is not true—one ought to watch that nothing, nothing escape one which in this connection may serve as a proof or even as a suggestion. So I venture still further—without wishing to be too positive, as I lack definite information on this subject and would like, therefore, to refer the matter to specialists in this line to decide—: whether there are not present among our domestic animals, or at any rate the nobler ones, such as the horse, the dog and the cow, indications of a Christian spirit. It is not improbable. Consider what it means to live in a Christian state, among a Christian people, where everything is Christian and everybody is a Christian and where one, turn where one may, sees nothing but Christians and Christianity, truth and martyrs for the truth—it is not at all unlikely that this exerts an influence on the nobler domestic animals and thereby again—which is ever of the utmost importance, according to the opinion both of veterinarians and of clergymen—an influence on their progeny. We have all read of Jacob's ruse, how in order to obtain spotted lambs he put party-colored twigs into the watering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but mottled things and then brought forth spotted lambs. Hence it is not improbable—although I do not wish to be positive, since I do not belong to the profession, but would rather have this passed on by a committee composed of both clergymen and veterinarians—I say, it is not improbable that the result will finally be that the domestic animals living in a Christian nation will produce a Christian progeny. The thought almost takes away my breath. To be sure, in that case the New Testament will to the greatest possible extent have ceased to be true.

And since the aim is to find everything that can be said in praise of the human race, we must be thorough. We must take care not to mention anything untrue. But we must also let nothing, nothing escape us that might serve as evidence or even a hint in this connection. So I venture still further, though I do not wish to be too definite. I lack reliable information on this subject and would therefore prefer to leave the decision to specialists in the field. Might there be signs of a Christian spirit among our domestic animals? Or at least among the nobler ones, such as the horse, the dog, and the cow? It is not improbable. Consider what it means to live in a Christian state, among a Christian people. Everything is Christian, and everyone is a Christian. Wherever you turn, you see nothing but Christians and Christianity, truth and martyrs for the truth. It is not at all unlikely that such surroundings influence the nobler domestic animals, and through them, their offspring. Both veterinarians and clergymen consider this influence on offspring to be of the utmost importance. We have all read about Jacob's trick for obtaining spotted lambs. He put multicolored twigs in the watering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but mottled things. Then the ewes gave birth to spotted lambs. So it is not improbable, although I do not wish to be definite, since I am not in the profession. I would rather have the matter judged by a committee of both clergymen and veterinarians. Still, I say it is not improbable that domestic animals living in a Christian nation will eventually produce Christian offspring. The thought almost takes my breath away. To be sure, in that case the New Testament will have ceased to be true to the greatest possible extent.

Ah, Thou Savior of the World, when Thou saidst with great concern: "When the Son of man cometh, shall He find Faith on the earth?⁴"—and when Thou didst bow Thy head in death, then didst Thou least of all think that Thy expectations were to be exceeded to such a degree, and that the human race would in such a pretty and touching way render the New Testament no longer true, and Thy significance almost doubtful; for such nice creatures certainly also needed a Savior!⁵

Ah, Savior of the World, you asked with great concern: "When the Son of man comes, will he find faith on earth?⁴" And when you bowed your head in death, the last thing you imagined was your expectations being so greatly exceeded. You never imagined humanity would, in such a sweet and touching way, make the New Testament no longer true. And in doing so, humanity would make even your significance almost doubtful. For such nice creatures certainly needed a Savior too!⁵

If it is not so—that all we mean by being "Christians" is a delusion—that all this machinery, with a State Church and thousands of spiritual-worldly councillors of chancery, etc., is a stupendous delusion which will not be of the least help to us in the life everlasting but, on the contrary, will be turned into an accusation against us—if this is not so; for if it is, then let us, for the sake of life everlasting, get rid of it, the sooner the better—

If it is not true that all we mean by being "Christians" is a delusion, consider this same condition further. If the whole machinery is not an enormous delusion, with its State Church and thousands of spiritual-worldly government councillors, etc. If this machinery will not be utterly useless to us in eternal life and instead become an accusation against us. If all this is not so. For if all this is so, let us get rid of the whole machinery for the sake of eternal life. The sooner the better.

If it is not so, and if what we understand by being a Christian really is to be a Christian: then what is God in Heaven?

If that is not so, and if being a Christian really means what we think it means, then what is God in Heaven?

He is the most ridiculous being that ever existed, His Word is the most ridiculous book which has ever appeared; for to move heaven and earth, as He does in his Word, and to threaten with hell and everlasting damnation—in order to obtain as His result what we understand by being Christians (and our assumption was that we are true Christians)—well, now, has anything so ridiculous ever been seen before? Imagine that a fellow with a loaded pistol in his hand held up a person and said to him, "I shall shoot you"; or imagine, what is still more terrible, that he said, "I shall seize you and torture you to death in the most horrible manner, if"—now watch, here's the point—"if you do not render your life here on earth as profitable and as enjoyable as you can": would not that be utterly ridiculous? For to obtain that effect it certainly is not necessary to threaten one with a loaded pistol and the most painful torture; in fact, it is possible that neither the loaded pistol nor the most painful torture would be able to deter him from making his life as comfortable as he can. And the same is true when, by fear of eternal punishment (terrible threat!), and by hope of eternal salvation, He wishes to bring about—well, to make us what we are (for what we call Christian is, as we have seen, really being Christian), to make us—well, to make us what we are; that is, make men live as they please; for to abstain from committing crimes is nothing but common prudence!

He is the most ridiculous being who ever existed. His Word is the most ridiculous book ever published. For in his Word, he moves heaven and earth and threatens us with hell and eternal damnation. And for what? To produce what we understand by being Christians (and we assumed that we are true Christians). Well, has anyone ever seen anything so ridiculous? Imagine a man holding someone at gunpoint and saying, "I will shoot you." Or imagine something still more terrible. Suppose he said, "I will seize you and torture you to death in the most horrible way, if." Now pay attention, here is the point: "if you do not make your life here on earth as profitable and enjoyable as you can." Wouldn't such a threat be utterly ridiculous? For surely no one needs threats of a loaded pistol and the most painful torture to achieve that result. In fact, perhaps neither the loaded pistol nor the most painful torture could stop him from making himself as comfortable as possible. And the same is true when he uses fear of eternal punishment (what a terrible threat!) and hope of eternal salvation. What does he want to achieve? Well, to make us what we are. For what we call Christian is, as we have seen, really being Christian. To make us, well, to make us what we are. In other words, to make people live as they please. For avoiding crime is nothing more than common sense!

The most terrible blasphemy is the one of which "Christianity" is guilty, which is, to transform the God of the Spirit into—a ridiculous piece of nonsense. And the stupidest kind of worship, more stupid than any idolatry ever was among the heathen, and more stupid than to worship as a god some stone, or an ox, or an insect—more stupid than anything, is to adore as god—a fool!

The most terrible blasphemy is the one "Christianity" commits: turning the God of the Spirit into a ridiculous absurdity. And the stupidest kind of worship is to worship a fool as god! Such worship is stupider than any idolatry ever practiced among pagans. It is stupider than worshiping a stone, an ox, or an insect as a god. It is stupider than anything!

Every physician will admit that by the correct diagnosis of a malady more than half the fight against it is won; also, that if a correct diagnosis has not been made, all skill and all care and attention will be of little avail.

Every doctor will agree that correctly diagnosing an illness wins more than half the battle against it. They will also agree that without a correct diagnosis, all skill, care, and attention will do little good.

The same is true with regard to religion.

The same is true of religion.

We are agreed to let stand the claim that in "Christendom" we are Christians, every one of us; and then we have laid and, perhaps, will lay, emphasis now on this, now on that, side of the teachings of the Scriptures.

We agree to accept the claim that in "Christendom" we are Christians, every one of us. And then we have emphasized one aspect of the teachings of the Scriptures, then another, and perhaps will continue to do so.

But the truth is: we are not only not Christians—no, we are not even the heathen to whom Christianity may be taught without misgivings, and what is worse, we are prevented through a delusion, an enormous delusion (viz. "Christendom," the Christian state, a Christian country, a Christian world) from becoming Christians.

But the truth is: we are not Christians. No, we are not even pagans to whom Christianity can be taught without concern. Worse still, an enormous delusion prevents us from becoming Christians. That delusion is "Christendom," the Christian state, a Christian country, a Christian world.

And then the suggestion is made to one to continue untouched and unchanged this delusion and, rather, to furnish a new presentation of the teachings of Christ.⁶

And then you are advised to leave this delusion untouched and unchanged. Instead, you are to offer a new presentation of Christ’s teachings.⁶

This has been suggested; and, in a certain sense, it is altogether fitting. Just because one lives in a delusion (not to speak even of being interested in keeping up the delusion), one is bound to desire that which will feed the malady—a common enough observation this—the sick man desiring precisely those things which feed his malady.

This has been suggested, and in a certain sense, it is entirely fitting. Simply because someone lives under a delusion, they are bound to want whatever feeds their sickness. That is true even without considering whether they have an interest in keeping the delusion alive. The observation is common enough: a sick person wants precisely the things that feed their sickness.

Imagine a hospital. The patients are dying off like so many flies. The methods are changed, now this way, now that: of no avail! What may be the cause? The cause lies in the building—the whole building is tainted. The patients are put down as having died, the one of this, the other of that, disease, but strictly speaking this is not true; for they all died from the taint which is in the building.

Imagine a hospital. The patients are dying like flies. The methods are changed, first one way, then another. Nothing works! What could be the cause? The cause lies in the building. The whole building is contaminated. The patients are recorded as having died from various diseases, one from one disease, another from another. But strictly speaking, those records are wrong, because all the patients died from the contamination in the building.

The same is true in religion. That religious conditions are wretched, and that people in respect of their religion are in a wretched condition, nothing is more certain. So one ventures the opinion that if we could but have a new hymn-book; and another, if we could but have a new service-book; and a third, if we could but have a musical service, etc., etc.—that then matters would mend.

The same is true in religion. Nothing is more certain than that religious life is miserable, and people are miserable in their religion. So one person suggests that if only we had a new hymnbook, things would improve. Another suggests that if only we had a new service book, things would improve. A third suggests that if only we had a musical service, things would improve. And so on, and so on.

In vain; for the fault lies in the edifice. The whole ramshackle pile of a State Church which has not been aired, spiritually speaking, in times out of mind—the air in it has developed a taint. And therefore religious life has become diseased or has died out; alas, for precisely that which the worldly mind regards as health is, in a Christian sense, disease—just as, vice versa, that which is healthy in a Christian sense, is regarded as diseased from a worldly point of view.

All in vain, because the fault lies in the building itself. The whole State Church is a ramshackle pile that, spiritually speaking, has not been aired out for ages. The air inside has grown foul. So religious life has become diseased or died out. Sadly, the worldly mind sees as healthy precisely what, in Christian terms, is diseased. And conversely, what is healthy in Christian terms looks diseased from a worldly point of view.

Then let the ramshackle pile collapse, get it out of the way, close all these shops and booths which are the only ones which are excepted from the strict Sunday regulations, forbid this official double-dealing, put them out of commission, and provide for them, for all these quacks:—even though it is true that the royally attested physician is the acceptable one, and he who is not so attested is a quack: in Christianity it is just the reverse; that is, the royally attested teacher is the quack, is a quack by the very fact that he is royally attested—and let us worship God again in simplicity, instead of making a fool of him in splendid edifices; let us be in earnest again and stop playing; for a Christianity preached by royal officials who are payed and insured by the state and who use the police against the others, such a Christianity bears about the same relation to the Christianity of the New Testament as swimming with the help of a cork-belt or a bladder does to swimming alone—it is mere play.

Then let the ramshackle pile collapse and get it out of the way. Close all these shops and booths, the only businesses exempt from the strict Sunday rules. Ban this official double-dealing. Put all these quacks out of business and provide for them. True, a physician certified by the king is accepted, while an uncertified physician is a quack. But in Christianity, the reverse is true. A teacher certified by the king is a quack precisely because he is certified by the king. And let us worship God simply again, instead of making a fool of him in magnificent buildings. Let us be serious again and stop playing. For consider a Christianity preached by royal officials, paid and insured by the state, who use the police against others. Such a Christianity compares to New Testament Christianity as swimming with a cork belt or inflated bladder compares to swimming unaided. It is nothing but play.

Yes, let that come about. What Christianity needs is not the stifling protection of the state—ah no, it needs fresh air, it needs persecution and—the protection of God. The state does only mischief in averting persecution and surely is not the medium through which God's protection can be conducted. Whatever you do, save Christianity from the state, for with its protection it overlies Christianity like a fat woman overlying her child with her carcass, beside teaching Christianity the most abominable bad habits—as, e.g., to use the police force and to call that Christianity.

Yes, let that happen. Christianity does not need the state's suffocating protection. Oh no, Christianity needs fresh air, persecution, and God's protection. The state does nothing but harm by preventing persecution. And the state is certainly not a channel for God's protection. Whatever you do, save Christianity from the state. With its protection, the state smothers Christianity like a fat woman smothering her child beneath her bulk. Besides, the state teaches Christianity the most disgusting bad habits. For example, it teaches Christianity to use the police force and call that Christianity.

A person is growing thinner every day and is wasting away. What may the trouble be? For surely he is not suffering want! "No, sure enough," says the doctor, "that is not the trouble. The trouble is precisely with his eating, with his eating in season and out of season, with his eating without being hungry, with his using stimulants to produce an appetite, and in this manner ruining his digestion, so that he is wasting away as if he suffered want."

A person is growing thinner every day and wasting away. What could be wrong? Surely he is not going without food! "No, certainly not," says the doctor. "The problem is precisely how he eats. He eats at all hours, even when he is not hungry. He uses stimulants to create an appetite, ruining his digestion in the process. So he is wasting away as if he were going without food."

The same is true in religion. The worst of all is to satisfy a craving which has not as yet made its appearance, to anticipate it, or—worse still—by the help of stimulants to produce something which looks like a craving, which then is promptly satisfied. Ah, the shame of it! And yet this is exactly what is being done in religion where people are in very truth fooled out of the real meaning of life and helped to waste their lives. That is in very truth, the effect of this whole machinery of a state church and a thousand royal officials who, under the pretense of being spiritual guides for the people, trick them out of the highest thing in life, which is, the solicitude about one's self, and the need which would surely of itself find a teacher or minister after its own mind; whereas now the need—and it is just the growth of this sense, of a need which gives life its highest significance—whereas now this need does not arise at all, but on the contrary is forestalled by being satisfied long before it can arise. And this is the way, they claim, this is the way to continue the work which the Savior of Mankind did begin—stunting the human race as they do. And why is this so? Because there happen to be a thousand and one royal officials who have to support their families by furnishing what is called—spiritual guidance for men's souls!

The same is true in religion. The worst thing of all is to satisfy a craving before it has even appeared, to anticipate it. Worse still is to use stimulants to create something resembling a craving, then promptly satisfy it. Ah, how shameful! Yet this is exactly what happens in religion. People are truly cheated out of life's real meaning and helped to waste their lives. That is truly the effect of the whole machinery of a state church and a thousand royal officials. These officials pretend to be spiritual guides for the people. Instead, they cheat people out of the highest thing in life: concern for their own spiritual condition. They rob people of the need that would surely, on its own, find a suitable teacher or minister. It is precisely the growth of this sense of need that gives life its highest meaning. But now this need never arises. Instead, it is prevented from arising by being satisfied long before it can appear. And this, they claim, is how to continue the work begun by the Savior of Mankind. By stunting the human race as they do! And why does this happen? Because a thousand and one royal officials happen to need to support their families. They do so by providing what is called spiritual guidance for people's souls!

The intention of Christianity was: to change everything.

Christianity’s aim was to change everything.

The result, the Christianity of "Christendom" is: everything, literally everything, remained as it had been, with just the difference that to everything was affixed the attribute "Christian"—and for the rest (strike up, fiddlers!) we live in Heathendom—so merrily, so merrily the dance goes around; or, rather, we live in a Heathendom made more refined by the help of Life Everlasting and by help of the thought that, after all, it is all Christian!

Here is the result, the Christianity of "Christendom": everything, literally everything, stayed as it was. The only difference was that everything was labeled "Christian". Otherwise, we live in Heathendom (play on, fiddlers!). So merrily, so merrily the dance goes round! Or rather, we live in a Heathendom made more refined with the help of Life Everlasting. And with the help of the thought that, after all, everything is Christian!

Try it, point to what you will, and you shall see that I am right in my assertion.

Try it. Point to whatever you like, and you’ll see that my claim is right.

If what Christianity demanded was chastity, then away with brothels! But the change is that the brothels have remained just as they did in Heathendom, and the proportion of prostitutes remained the same, too; to be sure, they became "Christian" brothels! A brothel-keeper is a "Christian" brothel-keeper, he is a Christian as well as we others. Exclude him from church membership? "Why, for goodness sake," the clergyman will say, "what would things come to if we excluded a single paying member?" The brothel-keeper dies and gets a funeral oration with a panegyric in proportion to the amount he pays. And after having earned his money in a manner which, from a Christian point of view, is as filthy and base as can be (for, from a Christian point of view it would be more honorable if he had stolen it) the clergyman returns home. He is in a hurry, for he is to go to church in order to deliver an oration or, as Bishop Martensen would say, "bear witness."

If Christianity demanded chastity, then away with brothels! But here is the change: brothels remained just as they were in pagan times. The proportion of prostitutes stayed the same, too. Of course, the brothels became "Christian" brothels! A brothel-keeper is a "Christian" brothel-keeper, a Christian just like the rest of us. Exclude him from church membership? "Why, for goodness sake," the clergyman will say, "what would happen if we excluded even one paying member?" The brothel-keeper dies and gets a funeral speech, with praise in proportion to how much he pays. Then the clergyman goes home, having earned his money in the filthiest, lowest way possible from a Christian standpoint. (From a Christian standpoint, stealing the money would have been more honorable.) He is in a hurry. He must go to church to deliver a speech or, as Bishop Martensen would say, "bear witness."

But if Christianity demanded honesty and uprightness, and doing away with this swindle, the change which really came about was this: the swindling has remained just as in Heathendom, "every one (every Christian) is a thief in his own line"; only, the swindling has taken, on the predicate "Christian." So we now have "Christian" swindling—and the "clergyman" bestows his blessing on this Christian community, this Christian state, in which one cheats just as one did in Heathendom, at the same time that one pays the "clergyman," that is, the biggest swindler of them all, and thus cheats one's self into Christianity.

But if Christianity demanded honesty, integrity, and an end to this swindle, the actual change was this: swindling continued just as in pagan times. "Everyone (every Christian) is a thief in his own line of work". Only now, the swindling has taken on the label "Christian." So we now have "Christian" swindling. And the "clergyman" blesses this Christian community, this Christian state, where people cheat just as they did in pagan times. At the same time, they pay the "clergyman," the biggest swindler of them all. And by paying him, they cheat themselves into Christianity.

And if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and doing away with the praise and approbation of vanity—why, everything has remained as before, with just this difference that it has assumed the predicate "Christian." Thus the trumpery business with decorations, titles, and rank, etc. has become Christian—and the clergyman (that most indecent of all indecencies, that most ridiculous of all ridiculous hodgepodges), he is as pleased as Punch to be decorated himself—with the "cross." The cross? Why, certainly; for in the Christianity of "Christendom" has not the cross become something like a child's hobby-horse and tin-trumpet?

And if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and an end to praising and approving of vanity, well, everything has stayed the same. The only difference is that everything now bears the label "Christian." So the whole worthless business of decorations, titles, rank, and so on has become Christian. And the clergyman? He is the most indecent of all indecencies, the most ridiculous of all ridiculous mixtures. Yet he is as pleased as Punch to be decorated himself with the "cross." The cross? Why, certainly. For in the Christianity of "Christendom," hasn't the cross become something like a child's hobby-horse and tin trumpet?

And so with everything. There is implanted in man no stronger instinct, after that of self-preservation, than the instinct of reproduction; for which reason Christianity seeks to reduce its strength, teaching that it is better not to marry; "but if they cannot contain, let them marry; for it is better to marry than to burn." But in Christendom the propagation of the race has become the serious business of life and of Christianity; and the clergyman—that quint-essence of nonsense done up in long clothes—the clergyman, the teacher of Christianity, of the Christianity of the New Testament, has his income adjusted to the fact that the human race is active in propagating the race, and gets a little something for each child!

And so it is with everything. Apart from self-preservation, no instinct is more deeply rooted in human beings than the instinct to reproduce. For this reason, Christianity seeks to weaken the reproductive instinct, teaching that it is better not to marry. "But if they cannot control themselves, let them marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with desire." But in Christendom, reproducing the human race has become the serious business of life and of Christianity. And the clergyman is the very essence of nonsense dressed in long robes. Yet this clergyman teaches Christianity, the Christianity of the New Testament. His income is adjusted to reflect how actively the human race reproduces, and he gets a little something for each child!

As I said, look about you and you will find that everything is as I told you: the change from Heathendom consists in everything remaining unchanged but having assumed the predicate "Christian."

As I said, look around and you will find everything just as I told you. The change from paganism is that everything has stayed the same but now carries the label "Christian."

In times long, long past people looked at matters in this fashion: it was demanded of him who would be a teacher of Christianity that his life should be a guarantee for the teachings he proclaimed.

Long, long ago, people saw things this way: anyone who wanted to teach Christianity had to live by his teachings. His life had to serve as a guarantee of what he taught.

This idea was abandoned long ago, the world having become wiser and more serious. It has learned to set little store by these illiberal and sickly notions of personal responsibility, having learned to look for purely objective ends. The demand is made now of the teacher that his life should guarantee that what he has to say is entertaining and dramatic stuff, amusing, and purely objective.

This idea was abandoned long ago, as the world had become wiser and more serious. The world has learned to place little value on these narrow-minded, unhealthy notions of personal responsibility. Instead, it has learned to pursue purely objective goals. People now demand that a teacher’s life guarantee that what he says is entertaining, dramatic, amusing, and purely objective.

Some examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about Christianity, that is, the Christianity of the New Testament which expresses preference for the single state—and suppose you yourself are unmarried: why, my dear man! you ought not to speak on this subject, because your congregation might think that you meant what you said and become disquieted, or it might feel insulted that you thus, very improperly, mixed in your own affairs. No, dear sir, it will take a little longer before you are entitled to speak seriously on this matter so as really to satisfy the congregation. Wait till you have buried your first wife and are well along with your second wife: then it will be time for you to stand before your congregation to preach and "bear witness" that Christianity prefers the single state—then you will satisfy them altogether; for your life will furnish the guarantee that it is all tomfoolery and great fun, or that what you say is—interesting. Indeed, how interesting! For just as, to make it interesting, the husband must be unfaithful to his wife and the wife to her husband, likewise truth becomes interesting, intensely interesting, only when one lets one's self be carried away by one's feelings, be fascinated by them—but of course does the precise opposite and thus in an underhand manner is re-assured in persisting in one's ways.

Some examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about Christianity, meaning the Christianity of the New Testament, which favors remaining unmarried. And suppose you yourself are unmarried. Why, my dear man! You should not speak on this subject. Your congregation might think you meant what you said and become uneasy. Or they might feel insulted that you so improperly brought your own affairs into the matter. No, dear sir, you must wait a little longer before you can speak seriously about this and really satisfy your congregation. Wait until you have buried your first wife and are well into your second marriage. Then you can stand before your congregation to preach and "bear witness" that Christianity favors remaining unmarried. Then you will satisfy them completely. For your life will guarantee that your preaching is all nonsense and great fun, or that your words are—no, simply "interesting." Indeed, how interesting! For a marriage becomes interesting only when the husband is unfaithful to his wife and the wife to her husband. In just the same way, truth becomes interesting, intensely interesting, only when you let your feelings carry you away. You let those feelings fascinate you, but of course you do the exact opposite of what the truth demands. In this underhanded way, you reassure yourself that you can keep living as you do.

Do you wish to speak about Christianity's teaching contempt for titles and decorations and all the follies of fame—and should you happen to be neither a person of rank nor anything of the kind: Why, my dear sir! You ought not to undertake to speak on this subject. Why, your congregation might think you were in earnest, or feel insulted by such a lack of tact in forcing your personality on their notice. No, indeed, you ought to wait till you have a lot of decorations, the more the merrier; you ought to wait till you drag along with a rigmarole of titles, so many that you hardly know yourself what you are called: then is your time come to stand before your congregation to preach and "bear witness"—and you will undoubtedly satisfy them; for your life will then furnish the guarantee that it is but a dramatic divertissement, an interesting forenoon entertainment.

Do you want to discuss how Christianity teaches contempt for titles, honors, and all the foolishness of fame? And do you happen to have no rank or anything of the kind? Why, my dear sir! You should not take it upon yourself to speak on this subject. Your congregation might think you meant it. Or they might feel insulted by your tactlessly drawing attention to yourself. No, indeed, you should wait until you have plenty of medals, the more the merrier. You should wait until you carry a long string of titles, so many you hardly know what you are called. Then your time has come to stand before your congregation, preach, and "bear witness". And you will undoubtedly satisfy them. For your life will then guarantee that your preaching is merely a theatrical diversion, an interesting morning's entertainment.

Is it your intention to preach Christianity in poverty, and insist that only thus it is taught in truth—and you happen to be very literally a poor devil: Why, my dear sir! You ought not to venture to speak on this subject. Why, your congregation might think you were in earnest, they might become afraid and lose their good humor, and they might be very unpleasantly affected by thus having poverty-thrust in on them. No indeed, first get yourself some fat living, and when you have had it so long that your promotion to one still fatter is to be expected: then is your time come to stand before your congregation and to preach and "bear witness"—and you will satisfy them; for your life then furnishes the guarantee that it is just a joke, such as serious men like to indulge in, now and then, in theatre or in church, as a sort of recreation to gather new strength—for making money.

Do you intend to preach Christianity in poverty and insist that only in poverty is Christianity truly taught? And do you happen to be a poor devil yourself, quite literally? Well, my dear sir! You ought not to dare speak on this subject. Your congregation might think you meant it. They might grow afraid and lose their good humor. They might find it deeply upsetting to have poverty forced on their attention. No, first get yourself a well-paid church position. Keep it long enough that you can expect promotion to an even better-paid one. Then your time has come to stand before your congregation, preach, and "bear witness". And you will satisfy them. For your life then guarantees that your preaching is just a joke. Serious men like to enjoy such jokes now and then, at the theater or in church. They offer a little recreation, a chance to gather fresh strength for making money.

And that is the way they honor God in the churches! And then these silk and velvet orators weep, they sob, their voice is drowned in tears! Ah, if it be true (and it is, since God Himself has said so), if it be true that He counts the tears of the afflicted and puts them into His bottle,⁷ then woe to these orators, if God has counted also their Sunday tears and put them into His bottle! And woe to us all if God really heeds these Sunday tears—especially those of the speakers, but also those of the listeners! For a Sunday preacher would indeed be right if he said—and, oratorically, this would have a splendid effect, especially if accompanied by his own tears and suppressed sobs—he would be right if he said to his audience: I shall count all the futile tears you have shed in church, and with them I shall step accusingly before you on the Day of Judgment—indeed, he is right; only please not to forget that, after all, the speaker's own dramatic tears are by far more dreadful than the thoughtless tears of his listeners.

And that is how they honor God in the churches! And then these speakers in silk and velvet weep and sob until tears choke their voices! Ah, if it is true that God counts the tears of the suffering and puts them in his bottle,⁷ then woe to these speakers if God has also counted their Sunday tears and put them in his bottle! And it is true, since God himself has said so. And woe to us all if God really pays attention to these Sunday tears! Especially the speakers’ tears, but the listeners’ tears too! For a Sunday preacher would indeed be right to tell his audience: I will count all your useless tears in church. And with those tears, I will stand before you on the Day of Judgment and accuse you. As public speaking, those words would have a splendid effect, especially with the preacher’s own tears and stifled sobs. Indeed, the preacher is right. Only please remember that the speaker’s own theatrical tears are far more dreadful than his listeners’ thoughtless tears.

That a man who in some fashion or other has what one calls a "cause," something he seriously purposes to accomplish—and there are other persons who make it their business to counteract, and antagonize, and hurt him—that he must take measures against these his enemies, this will be evident to every one. But that there is a well-intentioned kindness by far more dangerous, perhaps, and one that seems calculated to prevent the serious accomplishment of his mission, this will not at once be clear to every one.

Suppose a man has, in some form, what people call a "cause," something he seriously intends to accomplish. And suppose other people make it their business to oppose him, work against him, and hurt him. Everyone will see that he must take steps to protect himself against these enemies. But well-intentioned kindness may be far more dangerous and seem designed to keep him from carrying out his mission. Not everyone will immediately recognize this danger.

When a person suddenly falls ill, kindly-intentioned folk will straightway rush to his help, and one will suggest this, another that—and if all those about him had a chance to have their way it would certainly result in the sick man's death; seeing that even one person's well-meaning advice may be dangerous enough. And even if nothing is done, and the advice of neither the assembled and well-meaning crowd nor of any one person is taken, yet their busy and flurried presence may be harmful, nevertheless, inasmuch as they are in the way of the physician.

When someone suddenly falls ill, well-meaning people immediately rush to help. One suggests one thing, another suggests something else. If everyone around the sick man got their way, the result would certainly be his death. After all, even one person’s well-meaning advice may be dangerous enough. And even if nothing is done, and no advice from the crowd or any individual is followed, harm may still result. The well-meaning crowd’s frantic activity and presence may be harmful because they get in the doctor’s way.

Likewise at a fire. Scarcely has the alarm of fire been sounded but a great crowd of people will rush to the spot, good and kindly and sympathetic, helpful people, the one with a bucket, the other with a basin, still another with a hand-squirt—all of them goodly, kindly, sympathetic, helpful persons who want to do all they can to extinguish the fire.

The same is true at a fire. As soon as the fire alarm sounds, a large crowd rushes to the scene, good, kind, sympathetic, helpful people. One brings a bucket, another a basin, and another a handheld water pump. All are good, kind, sympathetic, helpful people who want to do all they can to put out the fire.

But what says the fire-marshal? The fire-marshal, he says—well, at other times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined man; but at a fire he does use coarse language—he says or, rather, he roars out: "Oh, go to hell with your buckets and hand-squirts!" And then, when these well-meaning people feel insulted, perhaps, and think it highly improper to be treated in this fashion, and would like at least to be treated respectfully—what says the fire-marshal then? Well, at other times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined gentleman who will show every one the respect due him; but at a fire he is somewhat different—he says: "Where the devil is the police?" And when the policemen arrive he says to them: "Rid me of these damn people with their buckets and hand-squirts; and if they won't clear out, then club them on their heads, so that we get rid of them and—can get at the fire!"

But what does the fire marshal say? Well, at other times, the fire marshal is a very pleasant, refined man. But at a fire, he uses coarse language. He says, or rather roars: "Oh, go to hell with your buckets and hand pumps!" And then perhaps these well-meaning people feel insulted and think such treatment is highly improper. They would at least like to be treated respectfully. What does the fire marshal say then? Well, at other times, the fire marshal is a very pleasant, refined gentleman. He treats everyone with the respect they deserve. But at a fire, he is somewhat different. He says: "Where the devil are the police?" And when the police arrive, he tells them: "Get these damn people with their buckets and hand pumps out of here. And if they won't leave, club them over the head, so we can get rid of them. Then we can get at the fire!"

That is to say, in the case of a fire the whole way of looking at things is a very different one from that of quiet every-day life. The qualities which in quiet every-day life render one well-liked, viz., good-nature and kindly well-meaning, all this is repaid, in the case of a fire, with abusive language and finally with a crack on the head.

In other words, during a fire, people see things very differently than in quiet, everyday life. In quiet, everyday life, being good-natured and kindly means well makes you well-liked. But during a fire, those same qualities earn you verbal abuse and finally a blow to the head.

And this is just as it should be. For a conflagration is a serious business; and wherever we have to deal with a serious business this well-intentioned kindness won't do at all. Indeed, any serious business enforces a very different mode of behavior which is: either-or. Either you are able really to do something, and really have something to do here; or else, if that be not the case, then the serious business demands precisely that you take yourself away. And if you will not comprehend that, the fire-marshal proposes to have the police hammer it into your head; which may do you a great deal of good, as it may help to render you a little serious, as is befitting so serious a business as a fire.

And this is just as it should be. For a major fire is a serious matter. And whenever we face a serious matter, this well-meaning kindness will not do at all. Indeed, any serious matter demands a very different way of behaving: either-or. Either you can really do something and really have something to do here, or you must leave. If neither is true, leaving is precisely what the seriousness of the situation demands. And if you refuse to understand that demand, the fire marshal intends to have the police hammer it into your head. That may do you a great deal of good. It may help you become a little more serious, as befits so serious a matter as a fire.

But what is true in the case of a fire holds true also in matters of the spirit. Wherever a cause is to be promoted, or an enterprise to be seen through, or an idea to be served—you may be sure that when he who really is the man to do it, the right man, he who, in a higher sense has and ought to have command, he who is in earnest and can make the matter the serious business it really is—you may be sure that when he arrives at the spot, so to say, he will find there a nice company of easy-going, addle-pated twaddlers who pretending to be engaged in serious business, dabble in wishing to serve this cause, to further that enterprise, to promote that idea—a company of addle-pated fools who will of course consider one's unwillingness to make common cause with them (which unwillingness precisely proves one's seriousness)—will of course consider that a sure proof of the man's lack of seriousness. I say, when the right man arrives he will find this; but I might also look at it in this fashion: the very question as to whether he is the right man is most properly decided by his attitude to that crowd of fools. If he thinks they may help him, and that he will add to his strength by joining them, then he is eo ipso not the right man. The right man will understand at once, as did the fire-marshal, that the crowd must be got out of the way; in fact, that their presence and puttering around is the most dangerous ally the fire could have. Only, that in matters of the spirit it is not as in the case of the conflagration, where the fire-marshal needs but to say to the police: rid me of these people!

But what is true in a fire is also true in matters of the spirit. Whenever a cause needs advancing, an undertaking needs completing, or an idea needs serving, you can be sure of something. The right man will arrive, the man who, in a higher sense, has and ought to have authority. He is serious and can treat the matter as the serious business it really is. When he arrives on the scene, so to speak, he will find a fine crowd of lazy, scatterbrained windbags. They pretend to be doing serious work. They dabble in wanting to serve this cause, advance that undertaking, or promote that idea. These scatterbrained fools will, of course, judge anyone who refuses to join them as lacking seriousness. Yet that very refusal proves his seriousness. I say the right man will find this crowd when he arrives. But I could also put it this way: his attitude toward these fools best determines whether he is the right man. If he thinks they may help him and that joining them will strengthen him, he is by that very fact not the right man. The right man will understand immediately, as the fire chief did, that the crowd must be cleared away. In fact, their presence and their fussing around are the most dangerous ally the fire could have. But matters of the spirit differ from a fire in one respect. The fire chief need only tell the police: get these people out of my way!

Thus in matters of the spirit, and likewise in matters of religion. History has frequently been compared to what the chemists call a "process." The figure is quite suggestive, providing it is correctly understood. For instance, in the "process of filtration" water is run through a filter and by this process loses its impurities. In a totally different sense history is a process. The idea is given utterance—and then enters into the process of history. But unfortunately this process (how ridiculous a supposition!) consists not in purifying the idea, which never is purer than at its inception; oh no, it consists in gradually and increasingly botching, bungling, and making a mess of, the idea, in using up the idea, in—indeed, is not this the opposite of filtering?—adding the impurer elements which it originally lacked: until at last, by the enthusiastic and mutually appreciative efforts of successive generations, the idea has absolutely disappeared and the very opposite of the original idea is now called the idea, which is then asserted to have arisen through a historic process by which the idea is purified and elevated.

The same holds in spiritual matters, and in religion too. History has often been compared to what chemists call a "process." The comparison is quite revealing, if understood correctly. For example, in the "process of filtration," water passes through a filter and loses its impurities. History is a process in a completely different sense. An idea is expressed and then enters the process of history. But unfortunately, this process does not purify the idea. What a ridiculous assumption! The idea is never purer than when it first appears. Oh no, the process gradually and increasingly botches, bungles, and makes a mess of the idea. It wears the idea out. Indeed, isn't this the opposite of filtering? The process adds the impurities the idea originally lacked. At last, thanks to the enthusiastic efforts of successive generations, all praising one another, the idea has completely disappeared. The exact opposite of the original idea is now called the idea. People then claim this opposite emerged through a historical process that purifies and elevates the idea.

When finally the right man arrives, he who in the highest sense is called to the task—for all we know, chosen early and slowly educated for this business—which is, to throw light on the matter, to set fire to this jungle which is a refuge for all kinds of foolish talk and delusions and rascally tricks—when he comes he will always find a nice company of addle-pated fools and twaddlers who, surely enough, do think that, perhaps, things are wrong and that "something must be done about it"; or who have taken the position, and talk a good deal about it, that it is preposterous to be self-important and talk about it. Now if he, the right man, is deceived but a single instant and thinks that it is this company who are to aid him, then it is clear he is not the right man. If he is deceived and has dealings with that company, then providence will at once take its hand off him, as not fit. But the right man will see at a glance, as the fire-marshal does, that the crowd who in the kindness of their hearts mean to help in extinguishing a conflagration by buckets and hand-squirts—the right man will see that the same crowd who here, when there is a question, not of extinguishing a fire, but rather of setting something on fire, will in the kindness of their hearts wish to help, with a sulphur match sans fire or a wet spill—he will see that this crowd must be got rid of, that he must not have the least thing in common with this crowd, that he will be! obliged to use the coarsest possible language against them—he who perhaps at other times is anything but coarse. But the thing of supreme importance is to be rid of the crowd; for the effect of the crowd is to hamstring the whole cause by robbing it of its seriousness while heartfelt sympathy is pretended. Of course the crowd will then rage against him, against his incredible arrogance and so forth. This ought not to count with him, whether for or against. In all truly serious business the law of: either—or, prevails. Either, I am the man whose serious business this is, I am called to it, and am willing to take a decisive risk; or, if this be not the case, then the seriousness of the business demands that I do not meddle with it at all. Nothing is more detestable and mean, and nothing discloses and effects a deeper demoralization, than this lackadaisical wishing to enter "somewhat" into matters which demand an aut—aut, aut Cæsar aut nihil,⁸ this taking just a little part in something, to be so wretchedly lukewarm, to twaddle about the business, and then by twaddling to usurp through a lie the attitude of being better than they who wish not to have anything whatever to do with the whole business—to usurp through a lie the attitude of being better, and thus to render doubly difficult the task of him whose business it really is.

At last the right man arrives, the man called to the task in the highest sense. For all we know, he was chosen early and slowly trained for this work. His task is to shed light on the matter, to set fire to this jungle. The jungle shelters all kinds of foolish talk, delusions, and dishonest tricks. When he arrives, he will always find a fine company of fools and windbags. They certainly think that perhaps things are wrong and that "something must be done about it". Or they have decided that being self-important and talking about the matter is absurd, and talk endlessly about that. Now suppose the right man is fooled, even for a moment, into thinking this company will help him. Then clearly he is not the right man. If he is fooled and gets involved with that company, providence will immediately withdraw its support from him as unfit. But the right man will see the situation at a glance, just as a fire marshal does. A crowd, out of the kindness of their hearts, wants to help put out a blaze with buckets and squirt guns. Here, however, the task is not to put out a fire but to start one. The same crowd will kindly offer to help with an unlit sulfur match or a wet lighting taper. The right man will see that he must get rid of this crowd. He must have absolutely nothing in common with them. He will have to use the crudest possible language against them, though perhaps he is anything but crude at other times. But above all, he must get rid of the crowd. For the crowd cripples the whole cause by stripping it of its seriousness while pretending heartfelt sympathy. Of course, the crowd will then rage against him, against his incredible arrogance, and so on. Their anger should count neither for nor against him. In every truly serious undertaking, the law of either-or applies. Either I am the man whose serious task this is, called to it and willing to take a decisive risk. Or, if that is not the case, the seriousness of the task demands that I stay out of it altogether. Nothing is more disgusting and contemptible than this halfhearted wish to get "somewhat" involved in matters demanding an aut—aut, aut Cæsar aut nihil,⁸ an either-or, either Caesar or nothing. Nothing reveals or causes a deeper moral decline. People take just a little part, remain so miserably lukewarm, and babble about the undertaking. Then, through their babbling, they falsely claim to be better than those who want nothing whatever to do with it. By falsely claiming to be better, they make the task doubly difficult for the man whose task it really is.

Pricks of conscience (insofar as they may be assumed in this connection)—pricks of conscience seem to have convinced "Christendom" that it was, after all, going too far, and that it would not do—this beastly farce of becoming a Christian by the simple method of letting a royal official give the infant a sprinkle of water over his head, which is the occasion for a family gathering with a banquet to celebrate the day.

Pangs of conscience (if we can assume any here) seem to have convinced "Christendom" that it had, after all, gone too far. This beastly farce would not do: becoming a Christian simply by having a royal official sprinkle water on an infant’s head. The sprinkling provides the occasion for a family gathering with a banquet to celebrate the day.

This won't do, was the opinion of "Christendom," for the opportunity ought to be given the baptized individual to indorse personally his baptismal vows.

This won't do, "Christendom" thought, because baptized individuals should have the chance to personally affirm their baptismal vows.

For this purpose the rite of confirmation was devised—a splendid invention, providing we take two things for granted: in the first place, that the idea of divine worship is to make God ridiculous; and in the second place, that its purpose is to give occasion for family celebrations, parties, a jolly evening, a banquet which is different from other banquets in that it—ah, exquisite—in that it, "at the same time" has a religious significance.

The rite of confirmation was created for this purpose. A splendid invention, if we take two things for granted. First, that the point of worship is to make God look ridiculous. Second, that worship is meant to provide an occasion for family celebrations, parties, a merry evening, and a banquet. This banquet differs from other banquets because it also has, "at the same time" a religious significance. Ah, how exquisite!

"The tender child," thus Christendom, "can of course not assume the baptismal vow personally, for this requires a real personality." Consequently there was chosen—is this a stroke of genius or just ingenious?—there was chosen the age of 14 or 15 year's, the schoolboy age. This real personality—that is all right, if you please—he is equal to the task of personally assuming responsibility for the baptismal vow taken in behalf of the infant.

"The young child," says Christendom, "cannot, of course, personally take on the baptismal vow, because that requires a real personality." So an age was chosen. Was this a stroke of genius or just cleverness? The chosen age was 14 or 15, schoolboy age. Here is a real personality, all right, if you please. This schoolboy can personally take responsibility for the baptismal vow made on his behalf as an infant.

A boy of fifteen! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars, his father would probably say: "No, my boy, I can't let you have all that money, you are still too green for that." But for a matter touching his eternal salvation where the point is to assume, with all the seriousness one's personality is capable of, and as a personality, responsibility for what certainly could not in any profounder sense be called serious—when a child is bound by a vow: for that the age of fifteen is excellently fitting.

A boy of fifteen! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars, his father would probably say: "No, my boy, I can't let you have all that money. You're still too inexperienced for that." But suppose the matter concerns his eternal salvation. He must take responsibility as an individual, with all the seriousness he is capable of. Yet what he takes responsibility for certainly cannot be called serious in any deeper sense: a child bound by a vow. For that, fifteen is an excellent age.

Excellently fitting. Oh yes if, as was remarked above, divine worship serves a double purpose, viz., to render God ridiculous in a very adroit manner—if you may call it so—and to furnish the occasion for graceful family celebrations. In that case it is indeed excellently fitting, as everything is on that occasion; as is, likewise, the customary biblical lesson for the day which, you will remember, begins: "Then the same day at evening, when the doors were shut⁹"—and this text is particularly suitable to a Confirmation Sunday. One is truly edified when hearing a clergyman read it on a Confirmation Sunday.

An excellent fit. Oh yes, if worship serves two purposes, as noted above. The first would be to make God look ridiculous in a very clever way, if you can call it clever. The second would be to provide an occasion for elegant family celebrations. In that case, it is indeed an excellent fit, just like everything else on that occasion. So is the usual Bible reading for the day, which, you will remember, begins: "Then the same day at evening, when the doors were shut⁹". And this passage is especially suitable for a Confirmation Sunday. Hearing a clergyman read it on a Confirmation Sunday is truly uplifting.

As is easily perceived, then, the confirmation ceremony is still worse nonsense than the baptism of infants, just because confirmation pretends to supply what was lacking at the baptism, viz., a real personality capable of making a vow in a matter touching one's eternal salvation. In another sense this nonsense is, to be sure, ingenious enough, as serving the self-interest of the clergy who understand full well that if the decision concerning a man's religion were reserved until he had reached maturity (which were the only Christian, as well as the only sensible, way), many might possess character enough to refuse to become Christians by an act of hypocrisy. For this reason "the clergyman" seeks to gain control of men in their infancy and their youth, so that they would find it difficult, upon reaching a more mature age, to break a "sacred" vow dating, to be sure, from one's boyhood, but which would, perhaps, still be a serious enough matter to many a one. Hence the clergy take hold of the infants, the youths, and receive sacred promises and the like from them. And what that man of God, "the clergyman," does, why, that is, of course, a God-fearing action. Else, analogy might, perhaps, demand that to the ordinance forbidding the sale of spirituous liquors to minors there should be added one forbidding the taking of solemn vows concerning one's eternal salvation from—boys; which ordinance would look toward preventing the clergy, who themselves are perjurers, from working—in order to salve their own consciences—from working toward the greatest conceivable shipwreck which is, to make all society become perjured; for letting boys of fifteen bind themselves in a matter touching their eternal salvation is a measure which is precisely calculated to have that effect.

As anyone can easily see, then, confirmation is even worse nonsense than infant baptism. This is precisely because confirmation claims to supply what baptism lacked: an actual person capable of making a vow about their eternal salvation. In another sense, though, this nonsense is clever enough, since it serves the clergy’s self-interest. The clergy understand perfectly well what might happen if people chose their religion only when they reached maturity. That would be the only Christian way, as well as the only sensible one. But many might then have enough character to refuse to become Christians through an act of hypocrisy. For this reason, "the clergyman" seeks to gain control of people during infancy and youth. The aim is to make breaking a "sacred" vow difficult once they are more mature. The vow dates from childhood, admittedly, but many might perhaps still take it seriously enough. So the clergy take hold of infants and young people and accept sacred promises and the like from them. And whatever that man of God, "the clergyman," does is, of course, a God-fearing act. Otherwise, a comparison might perhaps suggest adding another law to the one forbidding the sale of liquor to minors. This new law would forbid accepting solemn vows about eternal salvation from boys. Its purpose would be to stop the clergy, who themselves break their oaths, from pursuing the greatest imaginable disaster. To soothe their own consciences, the clergy work toward making all society break its oaths. For letting fifteen-year-old boys bind themselves in a matter concerning their eternal salvation is precisely calculated to produce that result.

The ceremony of confirmation is, then, in itself a worse piece of nonsense than the baptism of infants. But in order to miss nothing which might, in any conceivable manner, contribute to render confirmation the exact opposite of what it purports to be, this ceremony has been connected with all manner of worldly and civil affairs, so that the significance of confirmation lies chiefly in the—certificate of character which the minister makes out; without which certificate no boy or girl will be able to get on at all in life.¹⁰

The confirmation ceremony, then, is even more nonsensical in itself than infant baptism. But nothing that could conceivably help make confirmation the exact opposite of what it claims to be has been overlooked. To that end, the ceremony has been tied to all kinds of worldly and civil affairs. So confirmation matters chiefly because of the certificate of character the minister issues. Without that certificate, no boy or girl can get anywhere in life.¹⁰

The whole thing is a comedy; and perhaps something might be done to add greater dramatic illusion to the solemnity; as e.g., passing an ordinance forbidding any one to be confirmed in a jacket, as not becoming a real personality; likewise, a regulation ordering male candidates for confirmation to wear a beard during the ceremony, which beard might, of course, be taken off for the family celebration in the evening, or be used in fun and merrymaking.

The whole thing is a comedy. And perhaps something could be done to add to the solemn ceremony’s theatrical illusion. For example, a rule could forbid anyone from being confirmed in a jacket, since a jacket hardly suits a real personality. Likewise, a rule could require male candidates for confirmation to wear a beard during the ceremony. The beard could, of course, be taken off for the family celebration that evening, or used for fun and merrymaking.

I am not now attacking the community—they are led astray; they cannot be blamed for liking this kind of divine worship, seeing that they are left to their own devices and deceived by their clergyman who has sworn an oath on the New Testament. But woe to these clergymen, woe to them, these sworn liars! I know there have been mockers at religion, and I know how much they would have given to be able to do what I do; but they were not able to, because God was not with them. It is different with me. Originally as well disposed to the clergy as few have been, and very ready to help them. I have undergone a change of heart in the opposite direction, owing to their attitude. And the Almighty is with me, and He knows how the whip is to be handled so that the blows take effect, and that laughter must be that whip, handled with fear and trembling—therefore am I used.

I am not attacking the congregation now. They are being led astray. They cannot be blamed for liking this kind of worship, since they are left to their own devices. Their clergyman deceives them, though he has sworn an oath on the New Testament. But woe to these clergymen, woe to them, these liars under oath! I know there have been people who mocked religion. And I know how much they would have given to be able to do what I do. But they could not, because God was not with them. With me, things are different. At first, few people were as sympathetic to the clergy as I was, or as ready to help them. But their attitude has turned my feelings in the opposite direction. And the Almighty is with me. He knows how to wield the whip so that the blows have their effect. And he knows that laughter must be that whip, wielded with fear and trembling. That is why he uses me.

True worship of God consists, very simply, in doing God's will.

True worship of God simply means doing God's will.

But that kind of divine service has never suited man's wishes. That which occupies man's mind at all times, that which gives rise to science¹¹ and makes science spread into many, many sciences, and into interminable detail; that of which, and for which, thousands of clergymen and professors live, that which forms the contents of the history of Christendom, by the study of which the clergyman or the professor is to be trained—is to get a different kind of worship arranged, the main point of which would be: to do what one pleases, but in such fashion that the name of God and the invocation of God be brought into connection therewith; by which arrangement man imagines himself safeguarded against ungodliness—whereas, alas! just this procedure is the most unqualified ungodliness.

But that kind of worship has never suited human wishes. People are always preoccupied with one goal. The pursuit of that goal gives rise to scholarship¹¹, dividing it into countless fields and endless detail. Thousands of clergymen and professors live off that pursuit and devote their lives to it. That pursuit fills the history of Christendom, which clergymen and professors are supposed to study as part of their training. The goal is to arrange a different kind of worship. Its main point would be to let people do whatever they please, while connecting their actions with God's name and invoking God. Through this arrangement, people imagine they are protected against godlessness. Yet, alas, this very practice is godlessness in its most absolute form.

For example: a man has the intention to make his living by killing people. To be sure, he knows from the Word of God that this is not permissible, that God's will is: thou shalt not kill! "All right," thinks he, "but this way of serving God will not serve my purposes—at the same time I don't care to be among the ungodly ones, either." So what does he do but get hold of some priest who in God's name blesses his dagger. Ah, c'est bien autre chose!

For example: a man plans to make his living by killing people. Of course, he knows from the Word of God that killing is forbidden. God's command is: you shall not kill! "All right," he thinks, "but serving God this way won't suit my purposes. At the same time, I don't want to be among the ungodly, either." So what does he do but find some priest who blesses his dagger in God's name? Ah, that's quite another matter!

In the Scriptures the single state is recommended. "But," says man, "that kind of worship really does not serve my purposes—and surely, you can't say that I am an ungodly person; and such an important step as marriage (which nota bene God counsels against, His opinion being, in fact, that the important thing is not to take "this important step")—should I take such an important step without making sure of God's blessing?" Bravo! "That is what we have the priest for, that man of God, he will bestow the blessing on this important step (nota bene concerning which the most important thing was not to take it at all) and so it will be acceptable to God"—and so I have my own way; and my own way becomes the way of worshipping God; and the priest has his own way and gets his ten dollars, which are not earned in such a simple way as, for example, by brushing people's clothes, or by serving out beer and brandy—oh no! Was he not active on behalf of God? To earn ten dollars in this fashion is: serving God. Bravissimo!

Scripture recommends remaining unmarried. "But," a man says, "that kind of worship really doesn't serve my purposes. And surely you can't say I'm an ungodly person. Marriage is such an important step (though nota bene, God advises against marriage. In fact, he thinks the important thing is not to take "this important step"). Should I take such an important step without making sure of God's blessing?" Bravo! "That's what we have the priest for, that man of God. He will bless this important step (nota bene, the most important thing was not to take the step at all). And so my marriage will be acceptable to God." And so I get my own way, and getting my own way becomes my way of worshipping God. And the priest gets his own way and earns his ten dollars. He doesn't earn the money through anything as simple as brushing people's clothes or serving beer and brandy. Oh no! Wasn't he working on God's behalf? Earning ten dollars in this way is serving God. Bravissimo!

What depth of nonsense and abomination! If something is not pleasing to God, does it perhaps become pleasing to Him by having—why, that is aggravating the mischief!—by having a clergyman along who—why, that is aggravating the mischief still more!—who gets ten dollars for declaring it pleasant to God?

What utter nonsense and wickedness! If something displeases God, could bringing someone along perhaps make it pleasing to him? Why, that makes matters worse! And a clergyman at that? Why, that makes matters even worse! A clergyman who gets ten dollars for declaring the thing pleasing to God?

Let us consider the marriage ceremony still further! In His word God recommends the single state. Now suppose two young people want to be married. To be sure, they ought certainly to know, themselves, what Christianity is, seeing that they call themselves Christians; but never mind that now. The lovers then apply to—the clergyman; and the clergyman is, we remember, pledged by his oath on the New Testament (which nota bene recommends the single state). Now, if he is not a liar and a perjurer who makes his money in the very shabbiest fashion, he would be bound to take the following course: at most he could, with human compassion for this human condition of being in love, say to them: "Dear children, I am the one to whom you should turn last of all; to turn to me on this occasion is, indeed, as strange as if one should turn to the chief of police and ask him how best to steal. My duty is to employ all means to restrain you. At most, I can say, with the words of the Apostle (for they are not the words of Our Lord), I can say to you: well, if it must be, and you cannot contain, why, then find some way of getting together; for fit is better to marry than to burn.'¹² I know very well that you will be likely to shudder when I speak in this manner about what you think is the most beautiful thing in life; but I must do my duty. And it is therefore I said to you that to me you should have applied last of all."

Let us look more closely at the marriage ceremony! In his word, God recommends remaining single. Now suppose two young people want to marry. Of course, they certainly ought to know for themselves what Christianity is, since they call themselves Christians. But never mind that now. The lovers then go to the clergyman. And the clergyman, remember, is bound by his oath on the New Testament (which, notice carefully, recommends remaining single). Now, suppose he is not a liar who breaks his oath and earns his money in the shabbiest possible way. He would then be obliged to act as follows. At most, out of human compassion for the human condition of being in love, he could say to them: "Dear children, I am the last person you should turn to. Coming to me about marriage is as strange as asking the chief of police how best to steal. My duty is to use every means to hold you back. At most, I can tell you what the Apostle says (these are not the words of Our Lord). I can say to you: well, if you must, and you cannot control yourselves, then find some way to get together. For 'it is better to marry than to burn.'¹² I know very well that you will probably shudder at how I speak about marriage. You think marriage is the most beautiful thing in life. But I must do my duty. That is why I told you I was the last person you should have come to."

It is different in "Christendom." The priest—oh dear me!—if there are but two to clap together, why certainly! Indeed, if the persons concerned turned to a midwife they would perhaps not be as sure to be confirmed in their conviction that their intention is pleasing to God.

Things are different in "Christendom." The priest, oh dear me! If there are just two people to join together, why, of course! Indeed, if the couple went to a midwife, perhaps their belief that their intention pleases God would receive less certain confirmation.

And so they are married; i.e. man has his own way, and this having his own way strategically serves at the same time as divine worship, God's name being connected with it. They are married—by the priest! Ah, for having the clergyman along is just what reassures one—the man who, to be sure, is pledged by his oath to preach the New Testament, but who for a consideration of ten dollars is the pleasantest company one could desire—that man he guarantees that this act is true worship of God.

And so they are married. In other words, man gets his own way. And by a clever maneuver, getting his own way also serves as worship, with God's name attached to it. They are married, by the priest! Ah, having the clergyman there is just what puts one's mind at ease. To be sure, he has sworn an oath to preach the New Testament. But for a payment of ten dollars, he is the most pleasant company anyone could wish for. This is the man who guarantees that the marriage is true worship of God.

In a Christian sense one ought to say: precisely the fact that a priest is in it, precisely that is the worst thing about the whole business. If you want to be married you ought, rather, be married by a smith; for then—if it were admissible to speak in this fashion—then it might possibly escape God's attention; whereas, if there is a priest along it can certainly not escape His attention. Precisely the fact of the clergyman's being there makes it as criminal an affair as possible—call to mind what was said to a man who in a storm at sea invoked the gods: "By all means do not let the gods notice that you are aboard!" Thus one might say here also: By all means try to avoid calling in a priest. The others, the smith and the lovers, have not pledged themselves by an oath on the New Testament, so matters are not as bad—if it be admissible to speak in this fashion—as when the priest assists with his—holy presence.

From a Christian standpoint, we should say: the priest’s involvement is precisely the worst thing about the whole business. If you want to get married, you should have a blacksmith marry you instead. Then, if we may speak this way, the marriage might possibly escape God’s attention. But if a priest is present, the marriage certainly cannot escape his attention. The clergyman’s presence is precisely what makes the affair as criminal as possible. Remember what someone said to a man who called on the gods during a storm at sea: "Whatever you do, don’t let the gods notice that you’re aboard!" So we might say the same here: whatever you do, try to avoid bringing in a priest. The others, the blacksmith and the lovers, have not sworn an oath on the New Testament. So, if we may speak this way, matters are not as bad as when the priest lends his holy presence.

Let me relate a story. I did not read it in a book of devotion but in what is generally called light reading. Yet I do not hesitate to make use of it, and indicate its source only lest any one be disturbed if he should happen to be acquainted with it, or find out at some later time where it is from—lest he be disturbed that I had been silent about this.

Let me tell you a story. I did not read it in a devotional book, but in what is generally called light reading. Yet I have no hesitation about using the story. I mention its source only to avoid troubling anyone who might recognize it or later discover where it comes from. I would not want them to be troubled because I had said nothing about its source.

Once upon a time there lived somewhere in the East a poor old couple. Utterly poor they were, and anxiety about the future naturally grew when they thought of old age approaching. They did not, indeed, constantly assail heaven with their prayers, they were too God-fearing to do that; but still they were ever praying to God for help.

Once upon a time, a poor old couple lived somewhere in the East. They were utterly poor, and naturally grew more anxious about the future as they thought of their approaching old age. They did not constantly bombard heaven with prayers, for they feared God too much to do so. But they were always praying to God for help.

Then one morning it happened that the old woman found an exceeding large jewel on the hearth-stone, which she forthwith showed to her husband, who recognized its value and easily perceived that now their poverty was at an end.

Then one morning, the old woman found an extremely large jewel on the hearthstone. She immediately showed it to her husband. He recognized its value and could easily see that their poverty was now at an end.

What a bright future for these old people, and what gladness! But frugal and pious as they were they decided not to sell the jewel just yet, since they had enough wherewithal to live still one more day. But on the morrow they would sell it, and then a new life was to begin for them.

What a bright future for these old people, and what joy! But they were frugal and devout, so they decided not to sell the jewel just yet. They still had enough to live on for one more day. But tomorrow they would sell the jewel, and then a new life would begin for them.

In the following night the woman dreamed that she was transported to Paradise. An angel showed her about the splendors which only an Oriental imagination can devise. He showed her a hall in which there stood long rows of arm-chairs gemmed all over with precious stones and pearls. These, so the angel explained, were the seats of the pious. And last of all he pointed out to her the one destined for herself. When regarding it more closely she discovered that a very large jewel was lacking in the back of the chair, and she asked the angel how that might be. He—ah, watch now, for here is the point! The angel answered: "That was the jewel which you found on your hearth-stone. It was given you ahead of time, and it cannot be put in again."

The next night, the woman dreamed she had been taken to Paradise. An angel showed her around splendors that only an Eastern imagination could dream up. He showed her a hall with long rows of armchairs covered in precious stones and pearls. These, the angel explained, were the seats of the devout. Last of all, he pointed out the chair meant for her. Looking more closely, she discovered that a very large jewel was missing from the back of the chair. She asked the angel why the jewel was missing. Ah, pay attention now, for here is the point! The angel answered: "That was the jewel you found on your hearthstone. You were given the jewel ahead of time, and it cannot be put back."

In the morning the woman told her husband this dream. And she was of the opinion that it was better, perhaps, to endure in poverty the few years still left to them to live, rather than to be without that jewel in all eternity. And her pious husband was of the same opinion.

In the morning, the woman told her husband about her dream. She thought perhaps it was better to live in poverty for the few years they had left. That was better than being without that jewel for all eternity. And her devout husband agreed.

So in the evening they laid the jewel on the hearth-stone and prayed to God to take it away again. And next morning it had disappeared, for certain; and what had become of it the old folks well knew: it was in its right place again.

So that evening they placed the jewel on the hearthstone and prayed to God to take it away again. And by the next morning, the jewel had indeed disappeared. The old people knew very well what had become of it: the jewel was back where it belonged.

This man was in truth happily married, and his wife a sensible woman. But even if it were true, as is maintained so often, that it is men's wives who cause them to lose sight of eternal values: even if all men remained unmarried, there would still be in every one of us an impulse, more ingenious and more pressing and more unremitting than a woman, which will cause him to use a wrong measure and to think a couple of years, or ten years, or forty years, so enormous a length of time that even eternity were quite brief in comparison; instead of these years being as nothing when compared with the infinite duration of eternity.

This man was truly happily married, and his wife was a sensible woman. But even if wives cause men to lose sight of eternal values, as people so often claim, an impulse would remain. Even if all men remained unmarried, that impulse would still exist in every one of us. It is more ingenious, more insistent, and more relentless than a woman. That impulse will make each man use the wrong measure of time. He will think a couple of years, or ten years, or forty years, so enormously long that even eternity seems brief by comparison. Instead, those years should seem like nothing compared with eternity’s infinite duration.

Therefore, heed this well! You may by worldly wisdom escape perhaps what it has pleased God to unite with the condition of one's being a Christian, that is, sufferings and tribulations; you may, and to your own destruction, by cleverly avoiding the difficulties, perhaps, gain what God has forever made incompatible with being a Christian, that is, the enjoyment of pleasures and all earthly goods; you may, fooled by your own worldly wisdom, perhaps, finally perish altogether, in the illusion that you are on the right way because you have gained happiness in this world: and then—you will have an eternity to repent in! An eternity to repent in; to repent that you did not employ your time in doing what might be remembered in all eternity; that is, in truth to love God, with the consequence that you suffer the persecution of men in this life.

So pay close attention! Through worldly wisdom, you may perhaps escape the suffering and hardship God has chosen to make part of being a Christian. By cleverly avoiding these difficulties, you may perhaps gain pleasure and all earthly goods, but to your own destruction. God has forever made these rewards incompatible with being a Christian. Deceived by your own worldly wisdom, you may perhaps perish completely in the end. You may perish believing you are on the right path because you have found happiness in this world. And then you will have an eternity to repent! An eternity to repent of not using your time to do what could be remembered for all eternity. That means truly loving God, with the result that you suffer persecution from others in this life.

Therefore, do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers fear most yourself! Even if it were possible for one, with regard to eternity, to take something ahead of time, you would still deceive yourself just by having something ahead of time—and then an eternity to repent in!

So do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers, fear yourself most! Even if you could receive something ahead of time in matters of eternity, you would still be deceiving yourself. You would deceive yourself simply by having something ahead of time. And then you would have an eternity to repent!

Just as man—as is natural—desires that which tends to nourish and revive his love of life, likewise he who wishes to live with eternity in mind needs a constant dose of disgust with life lest he become foolishly enamored of this world and, still more, in order that he may learn thoroughly to be disgusted and bored and sickened with the folly and lies of this wretched world. Here is a dose of it:

People naturally desire whatever nourishes and renews their love of life. Just so, anyone who wants to live with eternity in mind needs a constant dose of disgust with life. They need this disgust to keep from foolishly falling in love with this world. Even more, they need it to learn to be thoroughly disgusted, bored, and sickened by this wretched world's foolishness and lies. Here is a dose of that disgust:

God Incarnate is betrayed, mocked, deserted by absolutely all men; not a single one, literally not a single one, remains faithful to him—and then, afterwards, afterwards,—oh yes, afterwards, there were millions of men who on their knees made pilgrimage to the places where many hundred years ago His feet, perhaps, trod the ground; afterwards, afterwards—oh yes, afterwards, millions worshipped a splinter of the cross on which He was crucified!

God in human form is betrayed, mocked, and abandoned by absolutely everyone. Not a single person, literally not one, remains faithful to him. And then, afterward, afterward, oh yes, afterward, millions went on pilgrimages on their knees. They visited places where, many hundreds of years earlier, his feet had perhaps touched the ground. Afterward, afterward, oh yes, afterward, millions worshipped a splinter of the cross on which he was crucified!

And so it was always when men were contemporary with the great; but afterwards, afterwards—oh yes, afterwards!

And so it always was when people lived at the same time as the great. But afterward, afterward, oh yes, afterward!

Must one then not loathe being human?

Then mustn't we hate being human?

And again, must one not loathe being human? For these millions who on their knees made pilgrimage to His grave, this throng of people which no power on earth was able to overcome: but one thing were necessary, Christ's return—and all these millions would quickly regain their feet to run their way, so that the whole throng were as if blown away; or would, in a mass, and erect enough, rush upon Christ in order to kill him.

And again, must we not loathe being human? For millions went on their knees as pilgrims to his grave. No power on earth could overcome this crowd. But only one thing would be needed: Christ's return. All these millions would quickly get to their feet and run away, leaving the whole crowd as if blown away. Or, standing upright enough now, they would rush at Christ together to kill him.

That which Christ and the Apostles and every martyr desires, and desires as the only thing: that we should follow in His footsteps, just that is the thing which mankind does not like or does not find pleasure in.

Christ, the Apostles, and every martyr want only one thing: for us to follow in Christ’s footsteps. Yet following in his footsteps is exactly what humanity dislikes or takes no pleasure in.

No, take away the danger—so that it is but play, and then the battallions of the human race will (ah, disgusting!) will perform astonishing feats in aping Him; and then instead of an imitation of Christ we get (ah, disgusting!), we get that sacred buffoonery—under guidance and command (ah, disgusting!) of sworn clergymen who do service as sergeants, lieutenants, etc.—ordained men who therefore have the Holy Spirit's special assistance in this serious business.

No, take away the danger, so that following Christ is only a game. Then the battalions of the human race will perform astonishing feats of mimicking him. (Ah, disgusting!) Then, instead of imitating Christ, we get sacred clowning. (Ah, disgusting!) All under the guidance and command of sworn clergymen serving as sergeants, lieutenants, and so on. (Ah, disgusting!) These men are ordained, so they have the Holy Spirit's special help in this serious business.