THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus by Romano Guardini - Chapter II, Section 1 & 2

II. ACTIONS, CHARACTERISTICS, ATTITUDES






1. INTRODUCTION



What then are we to make of the psychology of Jesus? Having prepared the

ground, we now ask this question aware of the difficulties involved. It is

obvious that we are not concerned here with experimental psychology or the

psychology of the conscious, or with any kind whatsoever of scientific

analysis of the psychic processes as such, but with an attempt to

understand, or to discover, the structure of the particular personality, to

see how it works, how it acts, and, above all, what its inner motivating

power is.



But even this is problematic when we are speaking about the person called

Jesus. Psychology is embarrassingly inquisitive. It seeks to probe those

things which the guardian-like inner personality prefers to keep hidden

because they are sensitive and deserve respect. Psychology is indiscreet

and tries to drag out into the open what modesty prefers to keep covered up

because it may cause shame. A secret urge to destroy is at work in

psychology and it knows that personality--a unique and inexplicable thing--

is in danger of falling apart once it is translated into universal concepts

and dissected.



This is true of every human person, especially of great and unusual

figures. But there is a type of mentality which cannot abide the

intellectual power and nobility of the great figure, and attempts to use

psychology against it. This is specially true of this figure who affects so

profoundly every man who encounters him. Psychology can be used as a means

of destroying his claims. We need only recall the painful attempts to

interpret Jesus as a pathological case. The scientific and literary works

dealing with the psychology of Jesus in this vein should be a warning to us

of the worst that can be done along these lines.



It need hardly be said, then, that our essay has nothing whatever in common

with such tendencies. We are prepared to confront something which is

greater than ourselves, and which, moreover, calls us to account, even

though we may not be able to stand up to the test.





2. JESUS THOUGHT



Let us begin with the psychic process most amenable to analytical

treatment--namely, thinking.



How did Jesus think? Of what kind are the thoughts he expressed?



If we compare his thoughts with those of other religious leaders, they

seem, for the most part, to be very simple, at least as expressed in the

Synoptic Gospels. It is true that if we take the word "simple" to mean

"easily penetrated" or "primitive", then this impression is dispelled on

closer analysis. The thought of Jesus is neither analytical nor synthetic:

it states basic facts; and states them in a way at once enlightening and

confusing. Very seldom, and then for the most part only in St. John, do his

thoughts reach a metaphysical plane. Even then they do nothing more than

state a plain fact. The only thing is that he happens to be speaking of the

sublimity and hiddenness of the existence of God, speaking of the mystery

of the Christian life. For the most part, the thought of Jesus, as

expressed in his sayings, remains close to the immediate reality of things,

of man and the latter's encounter with God. It is solidly realistic; but

the realism is that of the man who is stripped bare by the judge of God and

made new by his grace.



And so, Jesus speaks neither of the origin nor of the nature of the

universe. He takes it for granted that the universe was created by God and

finds its meaning in him; that it lies cradled in the hollow of his hand,

and that he is guiding it towards a blessed future.



Nor does Jesus speak expressly about the nature of God. He presupposes what

had been said about him in the revelation of the Old Testament, and passes

on to its fulfillment by making known the way in which God is a Person, the

way in which he can say "I" and "Thou" within himself. He does this, not

speculatively in philosophical or theological language, but in a concrete

way. He takes his stand within this divine life and speaks from it, as each

successive occasion arises. Jesus spoke with greatest conviction about the

Father, not revealing the ultimate mystery of this Fatherhood by explaining

how we ought to think about it and how it is related to human fatherhood,

but by telling us how this Father thinks and acts, and how man is to

interpret God's Fatherhood seriously. Man will then achieve a real,

existential encounter with God and come to the possession of the divine

nature. His last word on the Father was said in the form of a prayer. A

prayer is not doctrine but a guide to action. It exists, not to be thought

about, but to be acted upon. If this is done. the worshipper begins to

understand more clearly the nature of the One to whom he has turned.



Jesus was for ever speaking about Providence--again, not speculatively but

with direct reference to reality; so much so that we are almost tempted to

interpret his words as the simple pious man's philosophy of life, or even

as a kind of beautiful childish fairy-tale (cf. the image of the birds and

flowers in Mat. 6. 26, 28). The truth of the matter is that he presupposes

the whole Old Testament view of the relationship of God to the world. It is

a profoundly serious view and, for us today especially, of far-reaching

significance. Jesus totally disregards questions about the possibility of

God's providence, or about the precise relationship between the existence

of God and the course of world history. He adopts a different approach: he

provides us with a guide to the workings of providence, telling us in the

Sermon on the Mount: "Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God and his

justice; and all these things shall be added unto you" (Mat. 6. 33). This

is no theoretical statement but a guide to the starting-point for action, a

signal to start off, and a promise that strength will be given us on the

way. And once a man has committed himself, he soon discovers that he is

caught up in a process which demands nothing less than the complete

reorientation of his whole life. To the extent that he does this, he

achieves a true vision of reality.



Much more could be said about Jesus' conception of man, his moral teaching,

and so on. Theoretical questions about the nature of existence play no part

in his thinking--as the latter is expressed in his words: what lies beyond

is unknown to us. It plays no part, not because it does not exist, but

because Jesus' thoughts are oriented towards reality.



His thought was not intended to be a research course, a scheme, a mere

intellectual construction or system, but to proclaim something which did

not yet exist but was to come--namely, the kingdom of God. It pointed to a

new reality and declared that it was meant for us. It made men cognizant of

the fact that in view of this new reality events had been preparing which

were now on the point of coming to pass. His thought is pre-speculative;

but in a way different from the child or primitive man who has yet felt no

need of facing the problem of truth in all its profundity. His thought is

demonstrative, somewhat like that of the scientist who says: Here is a

process in operation, something which has not yet been known, a possibility

you have not yet grasped, powers which have not yet been at your command--

be on the watch for them. Going deeper, we see the issue in another light

as something still more fundamental. This reality can only be created by

him, that is, by the Father through him. For example, the relationship of

being a child of God is made possible solely because of the existence of

Jesus. So then, he places himself at the very first movement in the

creation of this relationship. His words are therefore authoritative in the

fullest sense of the word. They are gift-bearing. Only because he lives,

acts and speaks, does what he is speaking about exist. Only then can we

begin to reflect about what has been discovered, about its nature and its

relation to what we already knew, and so on. What he does is prior to all

speculation because speculation is possible only as a result of what he

does.



All this makes it quite clear that his thought eludes psychology. All we

can say is that it is clear, concise, utterly responsible, with no trace of

self or superfluity, concentrated solely on what is essential. He says--and

says because he has brought it about: This is so. This is happening. Do

this; power to do it has been given you. If you do this, things will turn

out thus, and so on. There can be no "psychology" about this sort of thing,

because it cannot be categorized. We are dealing with a revelation which is

initiatory and creative and therefore incapable of being made an object of

analysis. It is only from within this revelation, as for example about the

manner in which it is experienced or effected, that some kind of analysis

is possible.

THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus by Romano Guardini - Chapter I, Section 3

3. THE BASIC FIGURE




The more a man reveals his uniqueness as an individual and the greater the

influence he exerts on history, the more significant becomes the question:

What is the basic figure on which his personality and his life are modeled?

For over a thousand years the West has seen in the person of Jesus purely

and simply the sole canon of perfection; and for a great part of mankind

today that is still the situation. Even where this meaning is denied, the

denial itself is affected by it. If we examine the attitude of Friedrich

Nietzsche, for example--to cite only one of the most typical cases--we see

that both the general scheme and special features of the picture of man

which he paints are a contradiction of the conventional picture of Christ:

"Zarathustra" is, in fact, an anti-Gospel figure. The same thing holds true

of the war against Christian values in most sectors. Indeed, we might well

ask if any view of man could be possible in Europe for a very long time

yet, which was not colored in some way by Christ. And so our question

becomes all the more pertinent. To understand it better and to focus our

thoughts on what is essential, let us first of all consider some lives

which have come to be accepted as exemplary.



We shall begin with the man who has had more influence on determining the

Western image of the "spiritual man" than almost any other person--

Socrates.



Neither birth nor wealth was responsible for his fame. Intellectually, he

was a product of self-training and of the most remarkable cultural milieu

ever assembled in so small a space--the Athens of the fifth century B.C. He

was spurred on by an irrestrainable longing for the truth; he had a

powerful intellect and an extraordinarily keen critical faculty. In

addition, he had a great influence on younger men, which was felt by his

followers to be something uncanny. He was a religious man, with an

unquestioning consciousness of being led by God. While he tried to replace

traditional mythical notions by a system of contemplation enlightened by

philosophy, he nevertheless retained such a profound feeling for the

mystery of things that he did not openly rebel against his environment, but

remained faithful to its beliefs.



In this way, he lived a long life devoted to philosophical research and

inquiry, a life spent in awakening and training men's intellects. This

activity sprang from his own inner nature; it also took on the consecration

of a divine commission, for, as he acknowledged at the end of his life

before the supreme court, he knew that he had been called to such a life by

Apollo, the god of light and mind. Moreover, this mission bore fruit. He

could see its good effects all around him. In the constant struggle with

his adversaries he displayed his own superiority and he could rest assured

that the future would belong to him. He was surrounded by a host of

disciples, one of whom was Plato, a man of genius, to whom he had imparted

the best of his knowledge over a period of ten years. Finally, the inner

logic of his vocation led him to take his ultimate decision. At the age of

seventy, surrounded by his close friends, he died; and the manner of his

death set round his being and his work a final halo of unsullied light.



The figure of Socrates can be compared with that of another personality,

also from Greece, who belongs, not to history, but to legend. Nonetheless,

he expresses very clearly that elemental zest for life that is so typical

not only of the Greek but of universal man. The figure we have in mind is

Achilles.



Achilles was no thinker; he was a man of action--handsome, fearless,

passionate, skilled in all warlike pursuits and filled with a consuming

desire for glory.



He had once been asked whether he would prefer a long, but uneventful life,

or a short life which would make him the greatest in the hall of fame. He

chose the latter. His life was thus a blazing flame soon extinguished; but

for that very reason it was glorious, a symbol of that beauty which comes

to flower, not through plodding enterprise and care, not through labor and

endurance, not in any wide-stretching, fully traced arcs of life, but all

in the extravagance and transience of youth. As Homer depicts him--the poet

whom the Greeks regarded as more than a mere poet, rather as a teacher of

things divine and human--Achilles was the very expression and

personification of this zest for life.



The life of a Socrates or an Achilles proceeds directly from its own deep

point of origin and fulfills itself with a necessity which is at the same

time freedom, according to the law of its own nature. Everything that

influences it from without has to serve the creative purpose dictated by

the inner image. In contrast to this pattern we must cite another type of

existence belonging to the antipodes, as it were, of ancient life--

Epictetus, or, more precisely, the man whom Epictetus regards as a model,

that is, the Stoic.



Both Socrates and Achilles experienced existence as something bound up with

their own inner nature as something familiar. And so events and influences

which affected them neither introduced any alien elements nor distorted the

shape of their personalities as they unfolded. With the Stoic, on the other

hand, things are radically different. He is neither venturesome nor an

extrovert, neither borne along by a powerful urge nor protected by a hard

shell. He tends to be a contemplative, and certainly has a sensitive and

vulnerable nature. The processes of history, his fate, strike him as alien,

even hostile, and he has the greatest difficulty in coming to terms with

them. And so he retreats within the shell of his own nature, there to

become master of his fate, or at least to learn how to put up with it.



He does this, indeed, by saying that fundamentally nothing affects him at

all. This results in his thrusting his deepest self so far into the

background that not only outward events but even his own individual nature,

which is subject to change and decay, appear as something alien. He says

not only to fate, to possessions, family, power and honor, but even to

health, state of mind and basic endowments: "I am none of these . . ." What

remains as his ultimate true nature can scarcely be called an "image"; it

is more like a mathematical point, the focal center of his being, a

completely colorless self, invulnerable and indestructible. Everything that

happens to it is regarded as mere occurrence, as something completely

alien, something emerging from the realm of the unknown, uninvited and

meaningless, and with which one's true nature must not be allowed to come

in contact. For the Stoic, the basic process of human life is not

unfolding, but affirmation and conservation. It is true that,

involuntarily, a genuine figure is produced by this very process; a grim

and solitary form, outwardly calm, but ablaze inside with hidden passion,

desperately courageous and virile to the point of madness.



Between the extremes of pure self-development in a context of related

contingencies on the one hand, and sheer self-assertion in the face of a

hostile world on the other, we have the attitude which Virgil describes so

well in his picture of Aeneas. Here, fate is what determines the content

and meaning of personal existence.



Aeneas' ancestral home, Troy, was destroyed, a frightful disaster of which

he felt all the horror and pain. But at the same time he received the

assurance that, in spite of, or rather out of, this misfortune, he was

being called to found a new city and inaugurate a new glorious period in

history. And so he set out to face dangers and trials of every kind; not--

like Odysseus--to roam the world and taste its marvels, but to find the

spot where, according to divine decree, the new race was to be founded. His

life was that of a warrior, but his aim was not, like Achilles, to win a

warrior's renown, but to reach the place where his destined task was to be

fulfilled and the foundations laid for the future.



His personality had neither the creative power of a genius, nor the

brilliance of a hero's swiftly consumed flame, nor the grim courage of the

man who stands alone. It was narrow and restricted, but it was capable of

feeling, kindly and brave, and had an inflexible power of perseverance and

doggedness. What made up the life of Aeneas was not the self-expression of

his inner nature or the challenge of the world's glory, in the form of

discoveries or great deeds, but a divine vocation--fate, in the true sense

of the word. That is why he was called "pious"; because he was capable of

understanding and accepting the contingent as a divine command. Aeneas was

the mythical ancestor of the most realistic power in the ancient world, the

Roman empire. The consummation of this was reached in Augustus, the first

"emperor of the world".



Finally, to these figures from the Graeco-Roman world, we can add another

from the Far East, a religious figure--perhaps the greatest of all time,

and the only one who can seriously be mentioned along with Christ--namely

Buddha.



Buddha is curiously impersonal. His being is marked neither by a creative,

self-expressing urge, nor by daring deeds and the kind of activity which

makes history. He was dominated by an inexorable logic. We might almost say

that he was a law of being assumed into an inflexible will. If we

disregard, for the moment, the question of the truth of his message, we get

the impression that in his life the world reached transparency, not in the

positive sense that the world's totality was being revealed, as in a

microcosm, in a single human life, as in Shakespeare's plays for example,

or--in a different manner--in Goethe's genius, but in the form of a

discovery, a lifting of the veil. It became apparent that the world was

pain, guilt and illusion. Its deepest law was uncovered so that it could be

overcome--even abolished.



Buddha grew up as a king's son in a privileged position. His education was

such as to make him the perfect prince: he did and enjoyed all that makes

life worth living. Then one day he came upon those things that make a man

think: old age, suffering and death. These made him realize how meaningless

his former life had been. He therefore withdrew from everything and

embarked upon the search for reality. He went through the whole course of

ancient Indian yoga exercises, including this domain also in his universal

quest, and found that these things, too, did not lead to freedom. Finally,

he arrived at the knowledge that all existence is but an illusion arising

out of the will to live, and thought that he had found a way by which to

abolish or annihilate existence itself. This knowledge did not come to him

from some encounter with external things, nor yet as a grace from on high,

but was the final consequence of the fact that he is as he is and has done

what he has done; that means that his present life is the result of

countless previous incarnations. Thus Buddha closed the circle of

knowledge. He gathered a group of disciples about him, taught them so that

they would be able in their turn to hand on his doctrine, and organized

their communal life. Then, when he had had time to regulate everything, he

died at a ripe old age surrounded by his followers, a death that appeared

as the perfect consummation of his life.



The essence of his being cannot, perhaps, be better characterized than in

the three names constantly given him in the texts: the Vigilant, the

Perfect, the Teacher of Gods and Men.



The personalities we have been describing are quite different from each

other, but they have one thing in common: greatness. Where we are dealing

with this category, terrible things may indeed befall a man--one has but to

think of Atreus or Oedipus--but, nonetheless, his whole life is on the

princely scale and shines bright, no matter what the horror. He may suffer

humiliation like Hercules, but he will still wrestle his way through to

triumph while still in this life. The stature of his life is measured by

the standards of worth. He does not have to face everything possible, but

only what is fitting. And if, as in the case of the Stoic, "everything

possible" can befall him, then it is regarded simply as non-existent and is

pushed aside by the inner core of self. Even when things are at their worst

the rule of congruity still applies. Only one who is no true man, who is at

the mercy of the commonplace, a mere slave, has to suffer anything

incongruous.



But what about Jesus? We note simply that he himself claimed unquestionably

to be the one who was sent, the bringer of salvation, the exemplar of the

true life; that Paul declared him to be the manifestation of God (2 Cor. 4.

4; Col. 1. 15; Heb. 1. 3), and John described him as the Word made flesh,

both meaning thereby that his was the most meaningful and purposeful life

that ever was.



If ever a life was normative in character it was his. What was the pattern

of his life?



As we have said, Jesus was born the latter-day descendant of a once royal

line. His birth, however, brought him no privilege, power, property or

education. It served only to emphasize the more his social status as that

of an impecunious artisan. In particular, it was of no positive value to

him later in life. He neither relied upon it as a pretext to claim

anything, nor did he seek to restore its ancient power. Furthermore, it did

not in any sense form a background to give greater relief to a life of

self-abnegation. And yet his royal lineage was significant in the sense

that because of it Jesus is most intimately bound up with antecedent sacred

history; and its stored-up heritage of attitudes and reactions were

expressed in his life, chiefly, by making his position ambiguous and

causing his true character to be mistaken.



The first thirty years of his life were spent in complete obscurity. All

that we hear about them is the short episode of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem

at the age of twelve, when he became for the first time subject to this

obligation. The whole period is marked neither by deep study, significant

encounters, nor great deeds. We hear nothing about any great religious

events. The only historical event recorded is the pilgrimage; all the rest

that we find in apocryphal sources is mere legend. All we can say is that

he led the life everyone else in similar circumstances led.



Then his public ministry began. He preached that the kingdom of God had

arrived and was clamouring for admittance. He preached the renewal of life

in the Spirit; that a revolution in history through God's creative power

was at hand, a revolution whose nature had been foreshadowed by the oracles

of the prophets; but that everything depended upon acceptance of the

message by the Chosen People. At first he was successful: the people,

including many who were influential, turned to him. A band of disciples

began to follow him, men who, humanly speaking, had nothing at all

extraordinary about them. Soon, however, a serious crisis arose. His

various opponents, formerly at loggerheads with each other, began to unite

in a common front. He was accused on the basis of a complete

misrepresentation of the whole tenor of his teaching. The self-

contradictory charge was made, on the one hand, that he was blasphemous;

and, on the other, that he was preparing a revolt against Caesar. The trial

was conducted in utter disregard of legal forms and ended in his

condemnation. Certainly no more than three, possibly less than two, years

after the start of his public ministry, he suffered death, an agonizing

death, and of a kind to discredit him for all time.



The catastrophe was so complete that the crowd whom he had helped and who

had shown such enthusiasm for him earlier, abandoned him, as did also a

great many of his disciples. It was actually a member of the closer circle

of the Twelve who betrayed him. At his arrest they all fled. The disciple

whom he himself had called "the Rock" and regarded as the first of his

followers, denied him--before a despised slave-girl of a portress,

moreover, and even confirmed his denial by an oath.



After the death of Jesus, there occurred the event that broke all

precedents, namely Easter. Humanly speaking, however, it in no wise made

good the destruction of all his work. Though he had won through to glory

and power, he did not seek to avenge himself on his adversaries, or crush

those who had opposed him; nor did he triumph over those elements which had

rejected him. The event simply served as a great turning-point in history:

it was the starting-point for a whole new historical process which was to

be set in operation at Pentecost.



Then at length, in the name of this figure and by the power of the Spirit,

the final conquest of the whole world for God was set in motion.



How, now, can we characterize this life?



Was it the kind we have described as the unfolding of some great figure?

Quite obviously it was not. What happened had nothing to do with any

"unfolding": the concept is not appropriate. Nor did any "figure" emerge,

to use the term in its proper sense. This concept is equally inappropriate.

Nothing happened which in any sense opened up vistas of final

"accomplishment". We witness, rather, a movement towards disintegration.



We have only to imagine what it would have been like had Jesus lived

longer--fifty, seventy, or even ninety years! As things were, after the

peaceful period of childhood, youth and early manhood, there were left to

him only three years or perhaps a little more than one year of activity and

self-witness.



Was his death the climax of a life of heroic deeds? No; it had neither the

character of a mighty assault against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, nor

of a fire which consumes by its ardor a man's very substance. Still less

was it a case of an over-generous spirit dashing itself in vain against the

triviality of its environment. Christ knew and declared that the

fulfillment of his goal was possible--but only through a free response on

the part of those who were called: and the latter withdrew or even opposed

him, not because he was asking more than the times could comprehend, but

because they were unwilling to make a definite religious and moral

commitment.



Can his life perhaps be regarded as an example of self-assertion amidst a

storm of opposition? No, because what happened to him was totally at

variance with the nature of the Son of God; many things, such as the story

of the fish and the didrachma (Mat. 17. 23, 24-26), illustrate this. It was

distressing, unworthy and incomprehensible. The issue must not be allowed

to become clouded as a result of the later significance which his life

acquired. The cross has been placed upon the crowns of kings, but it was

once a sign of death and ignominy. There were motives enough for adopting a

stoic attitude; he did not do so. Jesus never made the slightest gesture of

detaching himself from a hostile, degrading, senseless world; of repelling

what he could not avoid, as having no part in him, or of retreating within

himself. What he had to contend with was wrong in every way, but he

accepted it and, indeed, took it to heart, we might even say.



His attitude is one that had never been seen before, and one that cannot

exist except where the norm of his person is accepted.



Aware that he had been sent by the Father, and filled with a desire to obey

the Father's will in all things, he accepted everything that happened to

him. We see in action a union with the will of God that drew everything

that happened into the deepest intimacy of the love of God. By the very

fact that everything became an expression--or, more precisely, an

instrument--of this love, earthly things acquired for God himself a meaning

of which no myth had ever dreamt.



What of the kind of life exemplified by a man like Aeneas, who felt that a

divine commission was being fulfilled in a long life of patient suffering

and struggle, and that life was a blend of adventure and action determined

by that mission? This type is not that of our picture either. From the

point of view of the ultimate goal to be reached, the events in the life of

Jesus were not in the least necessary. His goal could have been achieved

equally well--and from the viewpoint of worldly considerations, much more

logically--by other means. True, Jesus was charged with a mission of utmost

importance, but what were its terms of reference? In the last analysis, all

we can say is that he was to come among men and enter our historical world

as the One sent from God, to take upon himself the burden not only of his

personal existence, but of existence itself, and live it out with a

transparency of knowledge and a depth of feeling which could have no other

source than this mission received from his Father. He was to set reality in

motion and thus release all the potentialities inherent in it. He was to

bear the consequences of his incarnation and thereby create a new starting-

point for existence. In the final analysis, it would not be of great

importance what actually did happen, so long as it was the proper thing

required by the situation at that precise moment.



We could turn the statement round and say that, no matter how much blame

attaches to those who caused Jesus to suffer what he did, for Jesus himself

it was the right thing, ordained by God and, therefore, eternally right.

Jesus himself expressed the matter in this way: Woe to them by whom

offenses come! Woe to those who create the conditions which lead to the

misrepresentation! But for Jesus himself, "offense" is the very situation

in which he must fulfill the Father's will. He expressed this idea by

referring to his "hour". Jesus' life was not the expressing of a

"personage"; he did not live according to some divinely constructed plan

spread out before his eyes, but by the will of the Father as he encountered

it at every step he took in going to meet his "hour". Those steps were not

taken following a definite program, but were, in each case, the result that

followed from what had gone before and from the attitude taken up by the

various people involved. Thus, union was achieved, at each stage, between

the directing will of the Father and his own obedient will, and from this

union his own actions followed.



As soon as Jesus' nature becomes clearer to us, we see that the category of

"personality" does not fit him at all. Personality is a figure, in the

sense of a man "modeled in the round" both as regards the basic structure

of his nature and the actual course of his life: it is both the foundation

and limitation of existence. Modern interpretations of Jesus have tended to

turn him into a "personality", with the result that they completely lose

sight of his most characteristic feature. He was something quite different.

That is not to say that Jesus was a disintegrated person without either law

of being or place in existence. This is not to say that he was a mere piece

of flotsam to which anything could happen because his life had no distinct

bearing of its own; mere human rubbish at the disposal of any power that

tried to use it for its own purposes. It means, rather, that Jesus was

clearly above and beyond any "figure". The various patterns of human life

begin only on the hither side of his pattern of life.[1]



Granted that there is a logical thread running through the life of Jesus,

it is one that is at variance with all accepted norms; one that makes

manifest what is wholly "other"; one that reveals the mind and outlook of a

religious reality so different from all worldly values that it proclaims

itself precisely in its exploding of all worldly standards. The reality

which it stands for is represented by the Beatitudes, or by the joy which

Jesus felt when the apostles returned (Luke 10. 21 f.). To say this is, in

the last analysis, only to repeat what has already been said, that the

nature of Jesus was no ordinary "figure", in the accepted sense of the

word.



Following the same line of thought, we may say that the life of Jesus is

"Truth"; it is pure life without reservation or subterfuge; it is absolute

harmony with the living reality of God. This identification with Truth was

also an identification with the power of Truth and compelled those who

encountered him to reveal their thoughts without reserve, to "disclose the

secrets of the heart", as Simeon said at the presentation in the temple.



What can happen, then, in a human life which is determined by all this? The

answer must be: Anything and everything. The question as to what can or

cannot happen can never be answered by asking in turn what would be

intrinsically great or small, proper or improper, constructive or

destructive, fulfilling or frustrating. Everything can happen, even that

which at first sight seems to be utterly inconsistent with holiness or

divinity.



The reality of Jesus is of the kind which orders existence, literally

conditions it, to reveal all its potentialities. For this reason it is not

confined to one special form of existence, but is capable of appealing to

every form, of entering every form, of transforming every form of

existence.





ENDNOTES



1. One might well ask if we have not in him, purely and simply,

an example of the tragic figure of the prophet. This must be

denied categorically. His figure was not like one of theirs. To

begin with, it is striking that, unlike the Old Testament

prophets, Jesus did not establish his authority by appealing to

his calling. It is even more significant that he boldly claimed,

unlike any of the prophets, to be the one model, rule standard

and way. Hence his mighty: "But I say unto you . . ." instead of

the typically prophetic: "Thus saith the Lord."

Shrugging Before the Manger

The problem many of us have with Christmas isn’t that we expect too much of it but that we expect much too little

Shrugging Before the Manger

THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus by Romano Guardini - Chapter I, Section 2

2. THE KIND OF LIFE




In this environment is set the figure of Jesus; here he lived out his life.



His ancestry is traced back to the ancient royal family, both in the

genealogies and in isolated remarks (Mat. 1. 1 ff.; Luke 3. 23 ff)- This

royal line had now lost all its power, possessions and significance, so

that this late descendant lived in complete obscurity.



He grew up, not in true poverty, but in humble circumstances nevertheless,

in the house of a simple craftsman--a carpenter- Jesus general behavior

bears witness to the fact that he was accustomed to great simplicity,

though we must not forget that he feels quite at ease among well-to-do

people, and shows, for example, what he thought of the behavior of Simon

the Pharisee, who had invited him but did not think it necessary to extend

him the least token of hospitality (Luke 7. 44 ff).



We do not hear of his having had any special intellectual training. The

puzzlement expressed on several occasions over where he got his knowledge

of the Scriptures and his wisdom shows that he cannot have had any formal

education (Mat. 13. 54; Mark 1. 22; Luke 2. 47; John7. 15).



Jesus' way of life is that of an itinerant religious teacher. He goes from

place to place as outward occasion--a festival pilgrimage or spiritual

necessity--his "hour"--demands. He often stays in one place for quite some

time, visiting the surrounding district and then coming back to it again.

Thus, for example, at the start of his ministry, at Capharnaum (Mat. 8. 5

and 9. 35), or at its end, in Bethany (Mat. 21. 17--18; 26. 6). This

pattern of life derived from the nature of his mission, not from a personal

wanderlust. We can deduce this from the answer he made to the scribe who

said he would follow him: "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have

nests: but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head" (Mat. 8. 20). From

his audience he gathered around himself a band of the more receptive whom

he instructed in the deeper meaning of his message. From among these,

again, he made another selection of the Twelve. The importance of this

selection is underscored by the fact that the chosen are mentioned by name

(Mark 3. 14 ff. et par.); and it is also recorded that he spent the

previous night in prayer (Luke 6. 12).



The small inner circle, called "the Twelve" for short (Luke 8. 1, etc.),

are especially close to him. We may recall the intimate bond which existed

in ancient times between the philosopher or religious teacher and his

disciples. The Twelve are always about him. Wherever he is invited, they go

too. He shares food and lodging with them. After he has spoken they cluster

around inquiring into the meaning of what he has said. And he tells them

expressly that all is made clear to them, whereas the multitude will have

to be content with parables (Mat. 13. 11 ff.). He sends them out to test

their strength; he tells them what to preach, what to take with them, and

how to conduct themselves on their journey; and he gives them power to

perform signs. On their return he calls for their report, and the whole

scene reveals how deeply he was involved in their activities (Mark 6. 7-13,

30-l; and cf. Mat. 10-11. 6, 25-9; Luke 10. 1-22).



Within the band of the Twelve there is a more select group still,

consisting of the Three: Peter, James and John. They are present on all

important occasions, such as the raising of Jairus' daughter, the

transfiguration on the mountain, and at Gethsemane (Mark 5. 37; 9. 2; 14.

33). There was a specially close link between John and his Master, so close

in fact that he was able to describe himself as the disciple "whom Jesus

loved" (John 3. 23; 19. 26).



A number of women can be discerned within the wider circle of disciples.

They are those whom he has helped in bodily or spiritual ills, or who have

attached themselves to him for religious reasons (Mat. 27. 55-6; Mark 16.

1; Luke 8. 1-2). Some are well-to-do and look after his material needs.



St. John's remark that one of the Twelve, Judas Iscariot, kept the common

purse (John 12. 6), answers the question: What did Jesus and his companions

live on? Each member of the group no doubt contributed something to the

common upkeep; but in addition those who were impressed by the Master's

message helped out as well. We learn, too, that alms were dispensed from

the common purse (John 13. 29).



Besides this we learn that Jesus had friends with whom he could stay.

Considering his manner of life and the highly developed hospitality of the

East, this was only natural. He had especially close ties with the

household of Lazarus, Martha and Mary of Bethany (Luke 10. 38 ff.; John

11).



A characteristic element in Jesus' circle is constituted by the "publicans

and sinners", people ostracized by the accepted standards of society

because of their way of life. With him, however, they find understanding

and love, and they, in turn, are especially devoted to him. His association

with them, however, caused the shadow of suspicion to fall on him in the

eyes of the devotees of the Law and of respectable citizens (Mat. 9. 9 ff.;

11. 19; 21. 31; etc.).



We now approach the question: What attitude did the various strata of

society and groups in the land adopt towards him?



It was the common people who from the first responded enthusiastically to

his person and his message. They could see that he did not speak "like

their scribes"--formally, technically, incomprehensibly--but with vitality,

from observation and experience; not theoretically, but "as one having

power", so that they felt the dynamic power of his words and the mysterious

Reality which lay behind the words (Mat. 7. 28-9; Luke 4. 32). They sensed

also that his attitude to them was different from that of the members of

the influential classes. In the eyes of the Sadducees, they were just a

rabble; to the Pharisees, they were the despised masses who "do not know

the Law" (John 7. 49). By contrast, the attitude of Jesus made them feel

that his concern for them was genuine. Words like those of the Beatitudes

in the Sermon on the Mount have a primarily religious meaning. But they

were in marked contrast to the standards of the wealthy, the powerful and

the educated, and were therefore interpreted by the people as signs of

sympathy for the distressed, the oppressed and the ignorant. This feeling

was strengthened by the fact that Jesus was always ready to help the poor,

the suffering and the outcast. Sayings like "Come to me, all who labor and

are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest" (Mat. 11. 28) have reference

first of all to his Messianic mission, but they also express his boundless

readiness and power to be of service.



On the other hand, Jesus is no popular hero in the narrow sense of the

word; certainly not in any sense of his being a champion of the lowly and

simple against the wealthy and the educated. Certain sayings which seem to

suggest this (Luke 6. 24 ff.; 16. 19 ff; Mat. 19. 23 ff.) in reality have

nothing to do with social attitudes of this kind; still less do they imply

any tactics of rousing the people against their rulers. In the same way,

his relationship with the "publicans and sinners" does not mean that he is

in revolt against law and morality, or that he favors moral decadence. His

championing of the outcast is stressed because no one had ever done such a

thing before. The reason for it lay not in any inner fellow-feeling but in

the fact that "they that are in health, need not a physician, but they that

are ill" (Mat. 9. 12), and because they, too, are "sons of Abraham" (Luke

19. 9). Jesus is moved by the spirit of One who knows that he is sent to

every man, regardless of his condition. But once this has been made clear,

it must also be admitted that Jesus has a special tenderness for the poor

and the outcast. This flowed from the ultimate purpose behind his entire

mission, which was to upset all systems based on the standards of the

world, in order to proclaim the unknown God and his kingdom. The poor, the

suffering, the outcast are, through their very existence, forces of

discharge capable of shattering the established order.



Furthermore, he did not allow the people to draw too close to him, and

withdrew when the approaches were too pressing. He knew that the religious

motives which inspired such enthusiasm could be confused, shallow and

earthly, and that they might cause his message, especially his message

concerning the Kingdom of God and redemption, to be seen in a false light

(John 2. 23 ff; 6. 15ff.).



Among the ruling classes, the Pharisees, who were in closest touch with

public life and all its manifestations, paid immediate attention to him. At

once they became suspicious and began to work against him. They sensed the

thoroughgoing contrast between him and them in spirit and mentality, and in

their attitudes towards God and man. He himself often treated them openly

as adversaries. This is obvious everywhere, especially in the famous

invectives (Mat. 12. 22 ff.; 15. 1 ff.; 22. 15 ff.; 23. 13 ff.; etc.). Yet,

his struggle with them was not one of uncompromising opposition. He

recognized their function (Mat. 23. 1-3), appeared before them too as their

Messiah, and, whenever they showed a glimmer of understanding the truth,

received them (John 3. 1 ff.).



For a long time the Sadducees took no notice of him. Only at the every end,

when a crisis was imminent, did they become sufficiently disturbed to join

forces briefly with their former despised enemies in a common action

against him (Mat. 22. 23 ff.; Acts 4. 1; 5. 17 ff.).



We read that Herod had heard of the new teacher and taken an interest in

him (Luke 9. 7-9)--besides, he always had shown his interest in anything to

do with religion, e.g. in his dealings with John the Baptist (Mark 6. 20

ff.). Then he became suspicious and Jesus was informed of his intention to

kill him, whereupon Jesus indicated clearly enough what he thought of him

when he called him "this fox" (Luke 13. 31 ff.). Jesus did not come into

personal contact with him until the trial, and then the meeting went badly

enough (Luke 23. 6 ff.)



At first the Roman governor was completely unaware of his existence. He,

too, was first forced to concern himself with Jesus at his trial. John,

with his customary eye for involved human detail, has given us an

impressive account of their meeting (18. 28 ff.).



We still have to emphasize the peculiar sympathy which Jesus showed for

pagans. This was made clear, for example, when he met the Roman centurion

or the Syro-Phoenician woman (Mat. 8. 5 ff.; Mark 7. 24 ff.); likewise, in

what he had to say on Tyre, Sidon and Sodom (Mat. 11. 20 ff.). Even his

behavior towards Pilate has a frankness unspoiled by any kind of prejudice.



The same is true of his attitude towards the half-pagan Samaritans--as

indicated by his parable of the man who fell among thieves, or his story of

the ten lepers (Luke 10. 30 ff.; 17. 11 ff.), or his reprimand to the two

disciples who wanted to call down the vengeance of heaven upon the

inhabitants of a village of Samaria because they would not give hospitality

to the travelers. As this last instance shows, he certainly did not intend

to reject the Samaritans (Luke 9. 51 ff.).



Something must now be said about his personal habits.



He had no fixed teaching center either near the temple or in a rabbinical

school, but moved about from place to place. We have already noted that

this way of life was not a manifestation of wanderlust. The instructions he

gave the disciples he sent out may safely be taken to reflect, with certain

limitations, the kind of life he himself led and the experiences he had

gained by it (Mat. 10. 5 ff.). He taught wherever opportunity arose--in the

synagogues, where, moreover, every adult Jew had a right to speak (Mat. 4.

23, etc.); in the porticos and courts of the temple (Mat. 21. 21 ff.; 21.

21-24. 1); in market-place and street (Mat. 9. 9 ff.); in houses (Mark 7.

17); at the well where people came to draw water (John 4. 5 ff.); by the

seashore (Mark 3. 9); on hill-slopes like the one that has given its name

to the Sermon on the Mount (Mat. 5. 1 ff.); in the fields (Mat. 12.1); in

the "wilderness", that is, in uncultivated places (Mark 8. 4), and so on.



When he was invited to a meal, he accepted (John 2. 1 ff.) even though his

host was not kindly disposed toward him (Luke 7. 36 ff.). He healed the

sick wherever he encountered them, and also went to their homes (Mark 1. 29

ff.).



But then he would withdraw once more from the crowd, even from his

disciples and nearest friends, to retreat into solitude. His public

ministry began with a long fast and communing with God in the wilderness

(Mat. 4. 1 ff.). Time and again it is recorded that he went off alone to

pray (Mat. 14. 23). He did this particularly before important events like

the choosing of the apostles (Luke 6. 12 ff.), the transfiguration (Luke 9.

18, 28), and at Gethsemane before his Passion (Mat. 26. 36 ff.).



In all matters relating to custom and ritual, in the first place, he

conformed to the Law like everyone else.



At the same time, however, he definitely set himself above the Law. He did

this not merely in the sense that he expounded the Law more intelligently

and more spiritually than the fanatics, as we see in his clashes on various

occasions over the law of the Sabbath (Mat. 12. 9 ff., etc.), but

radically. He looked upon the Law as something over which he had power:

"The Son of man is lord of the sabbath" (Mat. 12. 8), and if Lord of the

Sabbath, then Lord of the whole Law, of which the Sabbath was one of the

most important parts. His anticipation of the Paschal meal by one day is

likewise a sign of this lordship over the Law. At the Last Supper itself,

this claim is made even more forcefully: not merely because he introduced

into and instituted in this sacred rite himself, but because he annulled

the rite itself and with it the whole old Covenant and announced the "new

Covenant" and the new memorial feast (Luke 9 9. 20).



At this point we might ask about Jesus' outward appearance and manner. This

is a difficult question to pose.



To ask what someone looked like, how he spoke or acted, is to presuppose a

detachment which in fact we never find anywhere in the atmosphere which has

surrounded the figure of Jesus for nearly two thousand years. When the

question has been raised, however, as for example in connection with the

various traditions concerning his true image, it seems to have had very

minor importance. The question is also hard to put because the records,

which are interested in quite other matters, make no direct comment on

these details. They are concerned with Christ's importance in God's

economy, his importance for the salvation of man. They concentrate on the

absolute in his nature, compared with which all that is relative must

yield. Thus, the image of Jesus has always been severely stylized. Any

personal note we may discover is in each case attributable to an individual

who has made it his interest. It will be found to reflect a particular kind

of religious experience, or a special ideal of human perfection represented

by some person or period as realized in the Redeemer. We need only point,

in this connection, to the works of religious painters and poets.



So we shall not attempt to offer any solution, but will merely suggest

where perhaps it might be found.



What sort of general impression does Jesus make if we compare him with the

great figures by whom God revealed his will in the Old Testament, with

Moses or Elias, for example?



The first thing which strikes us is his great calmness and meekness. We are

apt to associate a certain weakness with these words. Was Jesus weak? Is he

a figure of that tenderness which belongs to a late period in history when

contrasted with the moods of earlier ages? Does he seem like some highly

sensitive, vulnerable character of a later age, restricted by his very

depth of understanding, so different from the creative and aggressive

figures of early times? Is he merely the kind one, the all-compassionate

one? Is he only the one who suffers and patiently accepts the burden of

destiny and life?



Unfortunately art and literature have often presented him in some such

guise; but the truth is quite otherwise.



The impression which Jesus obviously made upon his contemporaries was that

of some mysterious power. The accounts show that all who saw him were

caught, and indeed shaken, by his nature. They felt that his words were

full of power (Mat. 7. 29; Luke 4. 36). His actions--apart from special

occasions--reveal a spiritual energy which marked itself off completely

from all human standards, so that, when describing his nature, men turned

to the familiar concept of the prophet (Mat. 16. 14; Luke 7. 16). But on

occasion this energy burst forth in an overwhelming display of power, as in

the episode with Peter after the miraculous catch of fish (Luke 5. 8), or

during the storm on the lake (Mat. 8. 23 ff. et par.). There is not a trace

of hesitant reflection, sensitive reserve, diffidence, or passive

spinelessness. He was filled with a power capable of any outburst or

violence; but this power was controlled, nay transformed, by a moderation

which took its source in his innermost being, by a deep goodness and

kindness, and by a sublime freedom.



We could express the idea thus: Jesus is the personification of a

marvelously pure "humanity", not in spite of his enormous spiritual power,

but precisely because of it.



This unity of power and humanity--taking the word in its purest sense--is

one of the most prominent features of the figure of Jesus, especially as it

emerges in the accounts of the first three Gospels. His willpower, his

awareness of mission, his readiness to accept its consequences, and finally

the mighty power of the Spirit--all this is translated into pure humanity

so completely and creatively, that we can describe his significance by

saying: He is able to bring men to understand and put into effect what is

meant by true humanity, even though--or because--he is more than a mere

man.



To put it another way: unobtrusiveness is of the very essence of the

"happening" we call Jesus.



We have only to compare his outward activity with other biblical or non-

biblical happenings to see how the mighty word, bold gesture, powerful

deed, fantastic situation, and the like, are alien to him. Strange as it

may seem, the character of the extraordinary is missing even in his

miracles. These are certainly great; many of them, like raising the dead,

feeding the multitude, or walking on water, are tremendously impressive.

But even these have something about them which makes them seem, one might

almost say, "natural". This "humanity" of which we spoke reappears as

unobtrusiveness.



Jesus' manner must have been very simple, his attitude so natural that

people hardly noticed it. His actions proceeded quietly from the needs of

the situation. There was nothing incredible about them. His words, too, had

this unobtrusive quality about them. If we compare them with the words of

an Isaiah, or a Paul, they strike us as being extremely moderate and brief.

Compared with the sayings of a Buddha, they seem brief to the point of

bluntness, and almost commonplace.



Admittedly, we receive this impression only if we think of his words in a

purely philosophical, aesthetic or contemplative sense. If we consider them

in the situation in which they were uttered and take them seriously, we

then realize the power revealed in them, which goes far beyond "depth",

"wisdom", or "sublimity": they touch the chords of existence itself.

When “Less” is NOT “More”

When “Less” is NOT “More”

Seeing Him Just as He is: The Beatific Vision

Seeing Him Just as He is: The Beatific Vision

Dec 20, 21, 22, & 23 - DAILY MEDITATIONS BY BISHOP CHALLONER

DECEMBER 20TH


ON OUR SAVIOUR AS OUR SACRIFICE

Consider first, that the Son of God by his incarnation did not only come amongst us to be our king and our priest, but to be our sacrifice too, and in that quality to be an inexhaustible source of all good to our souls. Man, from the beginning, always owed to his God the homage of adoration, praise, and glory; he was ever bound to make him the best offerings he was able; he owed his God perpetual thanksgiving for his perpetual goodness and bounty to him; and he was ever bound to acknowledge, by prayer, his total dependence upon this giver of all good gifts, without whom he could do nothing. But after sin he contracted a new debt, by which he was bound to make satisfaction also to the divine justice for the offence he had committed. hence we find, from the beginning of the world, frequent mention in the scriptures of sacrifices offered to God; hence, in the law, were so many ordinances, relating to burnt-offerings, sin-offerings, and peace-offerings: as so many different kinds of sacrifices to answer the different branches of man's duty to his maker. But alas! how little proportion was there in all, or any of these ancient sacrifices, with those great ends for which they were offered! How insignificant in itself, (abstracting from that sacrifice to come, of which they were all types,) was all that homage, adoration, glory, and thanksgiving, which was paid to the infinite majesty of God by these oblations of oxen, goats, and sheep! How much less could the blood of oxen or blood of goats take away sins, or be a proper atonement for the great sin of the world, by which man had fallen from his God! Therefore the Son of God came by his incarnation to make himself the victim and sacrifice of all mankind, to substitute himself instead of all those ancient burnt-offerings, sin-offerings, and peace-offerings; to answer in a most perfect manner all the ends of sacrifice; and to wash away all our sins with his own most precious blood. O blessed be his name through all generations, for his infinite goodness to us!



Consider 2ndly, what great things the Son of God has done for us all in making himself our sacrifice; and what great things he has enabled us to do by virtue of his sacrifice. In dying for us upon the cross, he has made himself a holocaust or whole burnt-offering for us, of most sweet savour to his heavenly Father; a sacrifice of homage, adoration, praise, and glory, worthy of the infinite majesty of God, because of the infinite dignity both of the offerer and of the offering. In bowing down his head, and yielding up his spirit for us by his death he has also made an oblation of himself, infinitely agreeable to his Father, for all the other ends of sacrifice - here he offered a thanksgiving, truly worthy of God, both for himself and for us; a peace-offering of infinite value, for purchasing peace and all happiness for us, and for opening in our favour all the fountains of grace and life; and particularly he here made himself a sin-offering for us all; a victim of propitiation of infinite virtue, for taking away all the sins of the world, and reconciling and bringing back lost man to an eternal union with his God. And this great sacrifice of his, with all its fruits, he has in such a manner made over to us, as to authorize and enable us to offer up the same sacrifice with him, and in his name, to his Father, for all the same ends as he did; and to give thereby infinite glory to God, and to procure infinite blessings to ourselves and to all the world.



Consider 3rdly, that this sacrifice which Christ our Lord offered up to his Father on the altar of the cross, (as a homage and adoration, which, as man, he paid to him by his death; a thank-offering of infinite value, as an atonement of sin more than sufficient to cancel the sins of ten thousand worlds, though infinite in malice; and as an oblation of infinite merit, in the way of prayer and impetration of all graces and blessings from God for all mankind, both for time and eternity,) did not expire by his death, no more than his priesthood did. The whole victim of his sacrifice was restored to him again at his resurrection, and he has carried it with him, at his ascension, to the sanctuary of heaven; where with it, he continually gives adoration and thanks to his Father, both in his own and our name, and continually pleads for mercy and grace for us. But this is not all; he has also appointed this same sacrifice to be kept up for ever in his church, in the sacred mysteries; and to be offered up daily for the like intentions, on thousands of altars, in all nations, as long as the world shall endure: himself in person, though invisibly officiating there, both as priest and victim - both as offerer and offering. See then, my soul, if anything more can be desired to make us completely happy, who have continually amongst us such a sacrifice, in which we have the source of all happiness, and the sovereign means of all good.



Conclude never to be wanting on thy part in a due correspondence in all these graces and blessings of heaven, which the Son of God has purchased for thee by his sacrifice, and which he daily seeks to enrich thee with, by the application of the fruits of his sacrifice, in the daily oblation of his own body and blood. O learn then, my soul, to unite all thy performances with those of the Son of God - incarnate for the love of thee - and daily offer thyself with him, who daily offers himself in sacrifice for the love of thee! Unite all thy adoration, praise, and thanksgiving, with that which thy Saviour, as man, continually presents to his Father in heaven, and with all that which he daily offers him on a million of altars here upon earth; and thy adoration, praise, and thanksgiving, will not fail of being accepted. In like manner unite all thy prayers and supplications for mercy with those of Jesus Christ, and with his sacrifice; and thou wilt always find through him both mercy and grace.


DECEMBER 21ST

ON ST. THOMAS, THE APOSTLE

Consider first, that in celebrating the festivals of the saints, we must principally have in view the glorifying of the God of the saints, and the giving him thanks for the wonders of his grace in them; and all that glory to which he has exalted them, and with which he has crowned them to all eternity. Now, God is wonderful indeed in all his saints, but in none more than in the meanest condition in life, as it were from the earth, and from the dunghill, to make them the princes of his people; the pillars and foundations of his church; prodigies of his grace; full of his divine Spirit; dispensers of all his treasures, and workers of all kind of wonders here upon earth; and now has exalted to sit with him on his throne in heaven, to come one day with him to be the judges both of men and angels. See, then, Christians, what subjects we have to meditate upon, on the festivals of the apostles; what motives we have to praise and glorify God for all he has done for them, and through them for us all; what encouragements we here have, however mean and poor we may be in all that is good, to rely on the power, goodness, and mercy of our God, who loves to work his greatest wonders in favour of such as are little and humble; and what lessons we have for our instruction and our imitation, in the ready correspondence of the apostles with divine grace, and their diligent co-operation with it unto the end.



Consider 2ndly, from the epistle read on this day, (Eph. iii. 19,) the great advantages we have received, through the ministry of the apostles, in our being called to the Christian religion, of which they were the first preachers and teachers. 'For now,' says St. Paul, speaking to all Christians, 'you are no more strangers and foreigners, but you are fellow-citizens with the saints, and the domestics of God; built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-stone; in whom all the building framed together groweth up into a holy temple in the Lord,' &c. Yes, Christians, it was by the ministry of the apostles we were originally brought to all this good; and as the same apostle adds, Heb. xii. 21, by our admission into the church of God, 'we are come to mount Sion, and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to the company of many thousands of angels, and to the church of the firstborn, who are written in heaven, and to God the judge of all; and to the spirits of the just made perfect, and to Jesus the mediator of the New Testament, and to the sprinkling of blood, which speaketh better than that of Abel:' viz., by crying to heaven for mercy, and not for justice. O happy communion of saints! A communion in all that is good, with all that are good; to which we have been introduced by the apostles of Christ. O glory for evermore be to their Lord, the author of all their good and our good!



Consider 3rdly, the particular lessons which St. Thomas teaches us by his example. When the other disciples opposed our Saviour's going back to Jerusalem where the Jews had lately sought his death, St. Thomas alone generously said: 'Let us also go, that we may die with him,' John xi. 16. Such was his love for his master, and such his courage in his cause. Are we in the like dispositions? Are we willing to die with Christ, or for Christ, when we are frightened with every little difficulty or danger, and ever ready to turn our backs upon him, rather that to risk anything for him, or part with our own humour or satisfaction for the love of him? St. Thomas was slow of belief with regard to the resurrection of our Lord, till he was favoured both with the sight of him and the handling of his wounds; but then he yielded himself up immediately, and cries out with the most lively faith and ardent love 'My Lord and my God!' This lively faith and ardent love continued with him, ever growing and increasing, and carried him through all his apostolic labours amongst so many barbarous nations (to which he is said to have preached the gospel) and through all his sufferings, till by glorious martyrdom it brought him to his Lord, and eternally united him to him. O that we had but some little share in this lively faith and ardent love! It would make all our labours and suffering easy to us, and bring us also to our Lord.



Conclude so to glorify God in this saint, as to encourage thyself also to walk in his footsteps by an imitation of his virtures, in hopes of sharing in his happiness. And for this end ever beg his prayers and intercession.



DECEMBER 22ND

ON THE EMBER WEEK IN ADVENT

Consider first, that the ember weeks, at the four seasons of the year, are the times set aside by the church, from the earliest ages, for fasting and prayer. The primitive church had that zealous regard for the glory of God, and the sanctification of the souls of her children, by training them up to these religious exercises, so much recommended by the word of God, that she would not suffer any of the four parts of the year to pass, without calling upon them all to sanctify one week at least by more than ordinary devotion and by offering up to God therein the tribute of a penitential fast. In which she had also moreover in view, that by their diligence in this practice, her children might draw down a blessing from God on all their labours, and on the fruits of the earth; that they might give thanks for the blessings already received, and implore the divine mercy for the forgiveness of the sins they were continually committing. Christians, let us, at these holy times, enter into these views of our holy mother the church; and by joining, as it were, in a body with all the people of God upon earth, in fasting, in almsdeeds, and in humble prayer, make the best return we are able to the giver of all good gifts, for all his benefits; beg a continuance of his graces and blessings, and the pardon of all our sins, through the merits of the passion and death of his only Son our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.



Consider 2ndly, that these penitential fasts of the ember weeks are also instituted in order to turn away the judgments of God, which we have too great reason to apprehend may be hanging over our heads on account of our sins. For if we duly consider the multitude an enormity of the crimes that are daily and hourly committed amongst Christians of all degrees and conditions - crimes that continually cry to heaven for vengeance - and how few there are, in comparison, that are not frequently falling into mortal sin, in one shape or another; we cannot but fear lest the very worst of God's judgments may be speedily falling upon Christendom, if not averted by prayer and penance. It is then not only a duty of obedience to our mother the Church, but a charity also that we owe both to ourselves and to our neighbours, to join, at these times, in prayer and penance, in order to prevent those dismal visitations of divine justice, and to turn now to the Lord, with our whole heart, in fasting, and weeping, and mourning, as the prophet admonishes, (Joel iii.,) that so by entering into dispositions of true penitents, and seriously turning away from the evil of our sins, we may prevail with our merciful God to turn away also his scourges from us, which we have deserved by our sins. O that Christians would remember this on all their days of fasting; and would always enter into the true spirit of these institutions, chiefly designed for the abolishing sin, and appeasing the divine justice! thus would they offer up to God such a fast as he has chosen. Thus would their fastings draw down a blessing from him.



Consider 3rdly, that the ember weeks are also set aside by the church of Christ for the times of giving Holy Orders, which by apostolical traditions, and by the example of the apostles, ought to be accompanied with prayer and fasting. Acts xiii. 2, 3; xiv. 22. Yes, Christians, as there is not any one thing on which both the general good of the whole church, and the welfare of every soul in particular, so much depends as upon having saints for our pastors, and such as may be men according to God's own heart - who both by word and work may continually promote the glory of God and the salvation of souls - so there is not any one thing which more pressingly calls for our prayers and fasting than the obtaining such pastors from God. This should indeed have a great part in our devotions at all times, but more especially at these times of their ordination. Bad priest are sometimes permitted by God, as one of his most dreadful judgments upon the sins of the people. It is the business then of all Christians, by praying well, and living well, to avert this judgment, and to obtain better guides.



Conclude to labour by more than ordinary devotion and penance at these holy times, to answer all the ends of these ancient institutions. This ember week in particular, and all the latter parts of Advent, (that is twelve whole days before Christmas,) by an ancient custom of the primitive English church, was dedicated by our catholic ancestors to fasting, watchings, prayer, and alms; and all the faithful, at this time, betook themselves to confession and penance, in order to prepare themselves for a worthy participation of the body of the Lord on Christmas-day, as we learn from B. Egbert, who was Archbishop of York about a thousand years ago. (In Dialogo de Ecclesiastica Institutione.) O how much have we degenerated from this ancient piety!


DECEMBER 23RD

ON THE PREPARATION FOR THE BIRTH OF CHRIST

Consider first, that when the time drew near in which the world was to be blessed with the birth of our Saviour, the blessed virgin, who bore him in her womb, and her chaste spouse St. Joseph, in obedience to the edict of the Emperor Augustus, took a journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, there to be enrolled in the city of David, as they were both of them of the royal stock of David. The emperor, in giving out these orders, had no other view than the gratifying his vanity, or this avarice, by the tax imposed on that occasion. But God, who had ordained and foretold long before, by his prophet Micheas, that his son should be born in Bethlehem, was pleased to bring about his eternal decrees in this manner, and to prepare, by this occasion a place for his birth, suitable to the great designs for which he sent him into the world. For behold, after a long and wearisome winter's journey, when the blessed mother, with the Son of God in her womb, was arrived at Bethlehem, the town was full; and none of the inhabitants, not even of their own kindred and family, would receive them into their houses, or give them any entertainment; the very inns would not lodge them; there was no room for them. O ye heavens! stand astonished to see the Son of God, the Lord and maker of heaven and earth, thus debase himself, form the very beginning, as not to allow himself, even in his very birth, any of the common conveniences of life; no not so much as a house to cover his head! O let him be so much the more dear to us, by how much he has made himself more mean and contemptible for the love of us.



Consider 2ndly, what kind of a place the king of heaven prepared on this occasion for the birth of his Son. St Joseph, after seeking in vain for a lodging in the town, found out at last an open stable, or stall for beast, exposed on all sides to the inclemency of the weather; which, for want of better accommodations, their poverty and humility were contended to take up with. and this was the palace the divine wisdom made choice of for the birth of our great king; the manger here, which had served for the ox and the ass, was the royal bed of state in which he was first laid upon his coming down amongst us. Oh, how has the Word incarnate here annihilated himself for us! Oh, how loudly has he condemned, from his very birth, our corrupt self-love in all its branches; with all the maxims of worldly pride, and the favourite inclinations of flesh and blood. Man fell originally from God, by proudly affecting a superior excellence which might make him like to God, by coveting to have what God did not allow him, and by seeking to gratify his sensual appetite with the forbidden fruit: therefore the Son of God begins his mortal life by the exercise of a most profound humility, to cure our pride - by embracing a voluntary poverty, even to the want of all things, in opposition to our covetousness and love of the mammon of the world, and by choosing for himself hardships and sufferings in opposition to our love of sensual and worldly pleasures. O let us study well these lessons, which this heavenly master begins to teach us by his great example, even from his first appearance amongst us.



Consider 3rdly, Christian souls, that the Son of God, who heretofore came down from heaven to be born into this world for you, earnestly desires at present to be spiritually born in you. See then, that you correspond on your part with this his earnest desire, by preparing your souls for him and giving them up to him. O be not like those unhappy Bethlehemites who refused him a place in their houses, and would not find any room for him! But then, if you are willing to admit him, take care to discharge from your inward house all such company as is disagreeable to him. For how great soever his desire is of coming and being spiritually born in your souls, he will not come thither as long as you wilfully entertain there his and your mortal enemies, the concupiscence of the flesh, the concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life - those very enemies whom he came from heaven to fight against, and against whom he has declared an eternal war by the austerity, poverty, and humility of his birth, of his education, and of his whole life and death. Moreover, if you desire to have him to abide in you by virtue of a spiritual birth, you must allow him the chiefest place in your heart and soul, by driving far away from you all irregular affections to the world or to any creature whatsoever. For though he did not disdain the stable nor the crib, the ox nor the ass, he will not endure a heart divided or occupied by unclean affections, and which will not give him the whole, without a partner in love.



Conclude to let nothing be wanting on your part to insure to yourselves the happiness of having the Son of God spiritually born in your soul. O invite him thither with all possible affection; be ready to give up all things else that he may abide with you; and beg of him, who knows your poverty and misery, that he would prepare himself a place in you, and furnish your souls with all those ornaments of virtue and grace which are suitable to this his spiritual birth.

THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus by Romano Guardini - Chapter I, Section 1

THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST


I. THE SETTING AND THE LIFE

1. THE HISTORICAL SITUATION

Almost everything we know about Jesus comes from the New Testament, above

all from the Gospels. These are not historical narratives in the modern

sense- They do not even set out to provide edifying biographies written

according to a unified scheme. They are a holy message.


Without attempting to achieve sequence and completeness, they record

events, sayings, and actions in the life of our Lord, presenting them

according to their significance for the proclamation of the message of

salvation. Thus, from the standpoint of historical biography, the facts

which we learn from the Gospels about the life of Jesus are at once

accidental and precious.



The scene of Jesus' life is Palestine. because in the later and more

important part of his life he moved about with considerable freedom, the

story takes us to widely different regions. First there is the immediate

homecountry--Galilee; then the capital with the surrounding province of

Judaea; the solitude of the wilderness and the banks of Jordan; Samaria and

the Syrian frontier. It is true that the account shows no interest in

things which are not immediately connected with the holy message of

salvation, and yet it throws light now and again upon the conditions of the

country; upon the peculiarities of the different regions with the tensions

which exist between them; upon occasional geographical and historical

points of interest.



The time limits of Jesus' life are determined by certain statements in the

Gospels. He was born during the reign of Augustus Caesar, Quirinius being

governor in Syria, and Herod, the King of Galilee, under Roman vassalage.

We cannot fix the year exactly (Luke 2. 1-2; Mat. 2. 1). His public

activity began after the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar,

i.e. after the year 28; for it was in this year that John the Baptist began

to preach, and Jesus appeared after that. Jesus was then about thirty years

old (Luke 3. 1-3, 23). He died, at the latest, before Easter of the year

35, for his death occurred while Pontius Pilate was in office, and by

Easter 36 Pilate's term was over (Mat. 27. 11-26 et par.). Jesus lived,

then, between these extreme dates. More exact dating depends upon how long

we allow for the Baptist's and his own ministries, and how we interpret the

statements of the various Gospels concerning his journeyings to Jerusalem.

The highest reckoning puts the duration of Jesus' public life at about

three years; the lowest at a little over one.



The reigns of Caesar Augustus (29 B.C.-14 A.D.) and Tiberius Caesar (A.D.

14-37) form the historical framework of our Lord's life. All the world,

from Gibraltar to Mesopotamia, from Britain to Ethiopia, was a single

political entity. A multiplicity of local cultures was held together by

strong unifying forces, above all by a view of life which blended

Hellenistic intellectualism with Roman practicality. Greek and Latin were

spoken everywhere. Political ordinances, a uniform administration, and

commercial intercourse guaranteed a constant interchange between the

different parts of the Empire. The religious scene presents a vast

diversity; but the separate pagan cults had long since lost their sharp

dividing lines. All of them had become imbued with certain tendencies,

notably a predilection for myths and mysteries. A deep longing for

redemption was felt everywhere, and this led to all kinds of syncretism.



The rulers of Palestine were the sons and heirs of Herod the Great (d. 4

B.C.). Judaea and Samaria were ruled by Archelaus (4 B.C.-6 A.D.) until his

banishment, when Judaea was made a Roman proconsulate under Quirinius.

Herod Antipas (4 B.C.-39 A.D.) ruled in Galilee and Peraea. Philip (4 B.C.-

34 A.D.) ruled in the North-east, but his area, too, was destined to come

under immediate Roman rule. The country's political independence, won by

the Maccabees in the wars of freedom (167-142 B.C.), and upheld by the

Hasmonaean dynasty, had been brought to an end by Pompey. From 63 B.C.

onwards Palestine was a Roman province. Herod the Great himself had been a

Roman vassal.



Despite this political dependence, however, a considerable spiritual

independence persisted. The form of government was still the old theocracy,

exercised by the high priest assisted by the supreme council of the

Sanhedrin, composed of seventy-one members.



Supreme jurisdiction in matters involving the death sentence and crimes of

a political nature was reserved to the Roman governor, as was taxation.

Religious life was founded on a tradition which had withstood all change.



At the same time, a whole series of Greek and Asiatic influences had made

themselves felt. The danger of hellenization may well have been warded off

by the Maccabean wars and the country safeguarded for Judaism; but

Palestine, too, was affected by Hellenistic culture, as well as by a

religious movement which stirred the whole Mediterranean world, revealing

itself in Palestine principally as a fervent longing for the Messiah, an

expectation which was not purely religious but also strongly nationalist

and political in tone.



The guardians of the nationalist-conservative tradition were the Pharisees.

They were the purists, those who remained faithful to the Law. They were

vigorously against all that was foreign and pagan; and they were the

bitterest opponents of Hellenistic culture. And yet, for all their national

consciousness, they were not really in touch with the people, but looked

down on them as a despicable, confused, and ignorant rabble.



Opposed to them was the party of the Sadducees who were cosmopolitan and

supported Hellenistic culture, seeing themselves as the enlightened,

rationalist opponents of all that claimed to be above the senses or beyond

this world.



Their image merges with that of the Hellenizers, the group that adapted

traditional Jewish ideas to the popular philosophy of the times, and whose

attitude to the Law was determined by this adaptation. The Sadducees were

related also to the Herodians--members of the courts of Herod's heirs, who

had no interest in serious issues but sought only power and pleasure.



A number of other well-defined groups stood out from the mass of the

population.



Most conspicuous were the Essenes, a sect of a decidedly mystical and

ascetic character.



John the Baptist's disciples seem to have had much in common with these

people and while some of them adopted their masters attitude to Jesus,

others continued as a separate community.



Besides these, we must take note of that little band that remained firmly

within the ancient tradition, but drew its inspiration rather from the

Prophets and the Psalms than from the Law- These were men and women of

deep, quiet spirituality like Zachary and Elizabeth, the parents of John

the Baptist; or the two prophetic souls who greeted the Child Jesus in the

Temple, Simeon and Anna; or the family at Bethany, Lazarus, Martha and Mary

(John 11).



Finally, there were the Samaritans, a racially and religiously hybrid

group, the descendants of colonists who had been transplanted there at the

time of the Assyrian conquest- They tried to hold themselves aloof from

both Jews and pagans, but were unable to do so because of the confusing

forces all about them. They were despised by their Jewish neighbors.

THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus by Romano Guardini - Preface

Romano Guardini (17 February 1885, Verona – 1 October 1968, Munich) was a Catholic priest, author, and academic. He was one of the most important figures in Catholic intellectual life in 20th-century.

Guardini's books were often powerful studies of traditional themes in the light of present-day challenges, or conversely examinations of current problems as approached from the Christian, and especially Catholic, tradition. He was able to get inside such different worldviews as those of Socrates, Plato, Augustine, Dante, Pascal, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, and make sense of them for modern readers.




THE HUMANITY OF CHRIST: Contributions to a Psychology of Jesus
by Romano Guardini



PREFACE



This book is an essay gathering together the results of many years of

study. While the problems treated here would certainly seem to require

still further elucidation, their manifest timeliness leads me to follow the

suggestions of friends and publisher and to present this essay as it

stands, in the hope that further discussion may benefit thereby. The work

goes out now in the shape it acquired about ten years ago as a series of

lectures.



I should not like to put forth this book, however, without first mentioning

how the problems have been approached, and how they relate to the general

picture of theological thought in our time.



We view with mixed feelings the pre-eminence which the science of

psychology claims in our day. The procedures of observation and analysis

seem to intrude into every sphere of life. They choose above all to focus

on the structure of personality, not excluding--indeed rather preferring--

the structure of those personalities we call great. While the achievements,

no doubt, merit attention, we must bear in mind that both the methods and

the results of psychological research are determined, even more than are

those of other sciences, by the motives which lie behind them. We have,

therefore, every right to be skeptical, for these motives, whether

acknowledged, half acknowledged, or unacknowledged, are multifarious and

frequently quite unacceptable.



Psychological analysis may well be motivated by the desire to improve our

understanding of the nature and destiny of some personality and to assess

it more accurately--to give it, that is, the honor due to it. It may,

however, just as well spring from the will to insert both personality and

man as such in a merely natural context, thus confounding him with an order

inferior to him. Were that effort to achieve its aim, the result would be a

triumph at the cost of reverence.



Motives of both kinds have always exerted their influence and are doing so

today. Those of the second kind, however, have been greatly strengthened by

certain contemporary trends. Democracy of the truly radical sort will not

tolerate gradations of rank among men. Positivism and materialism both deny

any essential difference between the spiritual and the animal, between man

and beast. According to totalitarianism the business of science is not to

discover what actuality is, but to change it and make it what it should be.

In practice this means placing men at the disposal of power. All this

enables us to understand why those who care about human worth and dignity

distrust psychology, especially in instances where what is at stake is the

worth and dignity of a great man, and why they feel that some destructive

force is at work, some technique of laying violent hands upon what has a

claim to be reverenced.



Inestimably greater, then, are the misgivings bound to arise when the

subject of a psychological enquiry is none other than that One who not only

surpasses all the great men of history but, indeed, completely transcends

everything merely human--none other than Jesus Christ.



On the other hand, we must not forget that he called himself the Son of

Man, a name which, all things considered, is much more than a mere term

designating the Messiah, which he had taken over from the prophets. Jesus

Christ is man, more unreservedly man than anyone else can ever be; for to

realize human nature as he did was an achievement possible only for one who

was more than mere man.



This point of view is in sharp contrast with the modern tendency to

interpret man in terms of a lower order: to see in his present state a

stage in an uninterrupted, steady ascent from the pre-human, and in his

structure an admittedly more complex, but essentially identical, ordering

of the same elements as in that of the animals. The contrary is true: man

can be properly understood only in terms of what is above him. The final

word on the meaning of the biblical text: "God created man in his own

image" (Gen. 1. 27) was only spoken by "the Word made flesh" (John 1. 14).



Seen in this light, the problem of a psychology of Jesus appears to be one

of the most urgent tasks confronting theology.





II



Early Christology sought, as its first task, to establish, beyond any

shadow of doubt, that Jesus of Nazareth was more, and other, than a mere

creature. Our minds, dulled by everything said and written on the subject,

can no longer comprehend the passion with which for centuries the early

Christians fought out the issues of Christology--a passion which can, in

spite of its many all too human features, yet be called holy. In the end,

the declaration affirming Christ to be the eternal, consubstantial Son of

the Father was established as a pillar of truth never again to be shaken.



The second phase came when the Christian mind saw clearly that this Son of

God had truly become man in Christ. It was not that he had come merely to

dwell in a man: he came as an actual member, indeed, as the crucial and

all-important member, in the whole history of the human race. He was

completely within human history, yet at the same time quite independent of

it. Indeed, the very reason for the uniqueness, the redemptive force of his

entry into human history, is to be sought in the fact that he came from the

freedom of him who is above all history and above the whole world. This is

what he meant when he said, as St. John reports: "I have power to lay down

(my life), and I have power to take it up again" (John 10. 18).



Thus the divine rigor of this true incarnation had to be purified from

every notion which, while apparently affirming a maximum of incarnation, in

fact destroyed its reality, because it substituted for a personal event one

which, in spite of the appearance of sublimity, still remained at the

natural level: namely, the confusion of the natures. A being in whom the

human blended with the divine in a single, undifferentiated substance would

be a myth. And so arose the concept of one person in two distinct natures,

a concept which exceeds the capacity of the human mind, to be sure, but

which guarantees the integrity of the God-Man.



The reality of the divine nature in Christ was now unassailable, his true

humanity was likewise established, as was also the indissoluble unity of

the two natures in the person of the Logos: a unity which constituted the

basis for the historicity of Christianity a unity which we may perhaps

even say made God himself historical. In saying this, we mean, of course,

something very different from the pantheistic processes of the Absolute.

And so, we now have these truths before us in a form which is both sublime

in purity and rich in content, both truth and mystery together: they have

become dogma.



And then the spirit began to ask further: what was the place in history of

the Son of God made man. This led to attempts to merge the unique

historicity of Jesus in the universal historicity of human life; and this

resulted in all those images of Christ which represented him as sheer man--

even though a most extraordinary man--or, on the other hand, as an idea, a

myth, the content of an experience.



We know that these ways are wrong. Alerted by the attitude of the Church,

theology is able to ward off all such attempts. But this resistance--if I

interpret it correctly--has remained essentially negative. It has told us

what is not. Now a positive task must be undertaken. We have seen how the

existence of Christ proceeds from an event which resists any attempt to

identify it with universal historical concepts. We have seen also that we

cannot penetrate the heart of his personality, not merely empirically,

because we lack the necessary means for such an insight, but in principle.

For, to achieve this, we would have to be able to reduce the absolute

reality of the divine nature and the relative reality of human nature to a

common denominator--which is impossible.



But something else is possible: the fact can be brought home to us that the

existence of Christ was a real earthly existence, taking place within the

framework of actual history. He had his own inward and outward experiences,

his encounters with men and things, his decisions and actions to be

constantly taken and performed, and so forth. All this took place within

the realm of being and event, that is to say, it can be understood. Hence

the questions what, how, why, wherefore, whence and whither, can properly

be asked and answered; and so also can the psychological questions, but--

and it is an important but--they must be asked with regard to a fact which

prescribes both an attitude and a method. This fact is the one already

mentioned: the incomprehensibility for us of both the origin and the heart

of Christ's personality.



So this psychology is going to be of a peculiar kind. If the word means, as

it generally does, an analysis of personality and individual circumstance,

then there can be no such thing as a psychology of Christ. The eternal

decree that he was to become man, no less than the existence of the Logos

in human flesh, resists any attempt to induce it to a psychological

concept--or to an historical one, for that matter. On the other hand, the

decision of the Logos to become man embraces everything that is essential

to human nature, including the possibility of being understood. All the

circumstances which determine human existence--body, soul, mind, society--

attain their fulfillment in the being and life of Christ. Basing ourselves

on these circumstances, we can, it is true, come to an understanding or, in

other words, a psychology, but we are going to find that, owing to its

inherent limitations, this psychology will be baffled at each line of

approach towards precisely these circumstances which we try out. And, it

must be repeated again, this defeat results not from any lack of material,

from any dullness of insight or deficiency of method, but from the very

nature of the object being investigated. The more complete the material,

the more penetrating our insight, the more thorough our method, the clearer

and more decisive becomes the impasse in the conviction forced upon us that

our undertaking simply opens out on to the incomprehensibility of God

incarnate.





III



How little justice was done to the figure of Christ by the historical and

psychological method of the liberal school of theologians! The

repercussions of this tendency in Catholicism, known as Modernism, have

been overcome. We know not only that a watered-down version of Christianity

is erroneous, but also that it is not even worth while wasting energy

trying to provide it with an intellectual basis. The self-commitment of

faith only makes sense when directed towards the one complete,

unadulterated revelation with its suprarational appeal.



Yet, on the other hand, it is evident that Christology must go a step

further. Not merely because of the logic of theological development, but

for the sake of Christian life. Prayerful meditation requires an approach

which will lead it deeper into the heart of real reality. The same thing is

true of life and action as well. We are accustomed to think of the

Christian life as a "following" or "imitation" of Christ. But what do we

mean by that? In what sense are the person and life of Jesus normative for

us? If we are to go any further than the usual abstract applications; if

Christ's actions, sufferings, behavior and attitude are to illumine and

guide our human existence; if the idea of the "new man" who "is being

changed into (the) likeness (of the glory of the Lord)" (2 Cor. 2. 18) is

to acquire a definite, inspirational content, then this image must be made

more concrete than is usually the case.[1]



This is the task, essentially, of a "theological psychology", the sort of

thing I referred to in my short work on "The Mother of the Lord" (1955),

and which I tried to provide, very tentatively, in my book, "The Lord"

(1937).



In this connection, we may dwell for a moment on the phenomenon on which

research might well try itself out and from which it could perhaps deduce

many of the concepts it will need. This phenomenon is the saint and the

life of his soul.



Hagiography has followed a course of development not unlike that of

Christology. The history of the way it dealt with its subject shows that it

first elaborated an abstract ideal of the supernatural, then created more

individual but still typical figures, and only finally succeeded in

grasping the concrete, historical person. The picture of the saint appears,

at first, in the highly stylized form of the icon, to become gradually more

and more concrete and individual. In the process it runs the very real

danger of having all its originality leveled out to accord with

preconceived historical or psychological patterns, until we come to the

final stage of treating sanctity as a pathological manifestation. At this

point the work of destruction is complete.



If the saint is what the Church knows him to be, then his figure, too,

contains a heart which defies all analysis: the "Christ in us" of which the

Epistle to the Galatians speaks (2. 20). Now, this Christ does not exist as

a separate transcendent entity above the man, Augustine, for example, or as

an alien body enveloped in some inaccessible depth of his soul; he

penetrates his genuine humanity and historical life. Furthermore, Christ

has become identified with the essential self of the man, so that the

Pauline text: "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me", can

be completed by another: "and now for the first time I really am becoming

my true self". The basis for a psychology of sanctity is to be found in St.

Paul's thought on Christ's in-dwelling and the "emergence of the new man

within the old"; but, as far as I know, this idea has not yet really been

exploited. If we think of the saint in these terms, we learn, I think, much

about the way we ought to view the reality which is Christ.



We can see St. Francis of Assisi, for example, as he is revealed to us by

the biographies of Thomas of Celano or Bonaventure. They greatly overstress

the supernatural aspect of his character and the image they create remains

remote from the world of men. Again, we can see him as Sabatier portrayed

him. Here we have a concrete picture of his life, it is true, but the

essence, the heart of the saint has vanished. This is because Christ has

gone out of the picture too. For, along with Francis of Assisi, Christ also

is classified as one of a series of individuals belonging to the same

psychological type, that of the "homo religiosus". This train of thought

finally becomes lost in the rationalism and lyricism of a Henry Thode,

Hermann Hesse, or Nikos Kazantzakis. We are today engaged in the task of

penetrating to the true nature of Francis, who lived in the mystery of a

likeness to Christ such as, perhaps, no other individual has ever achieved

in such charismatic exactness. For that very reason he possessed so

definite and so unique a human personality that he was able to influence

history as few others have been able to.





IV



Finally, we must go into the question of method, for this sums up the whole

difficulty. In view of the confusing variety of images of Christ current

today, we must ask the further question: Which Christ have we in mind?



If we answer: The one who brought us the fullness of revelation and

revealed himself therein, then another question must be posed: Where is he

to be found? There is only one answer to this: In the New Testament. But

this means, in the complete New Testament, in all its books, and from their

first to their last sentence, and this brings us to the heart of the

theological problem.



The reality of Christ has been made known to us by means of the words, i.e.

the recollections, of the apostles, of all the apostles from Mark to John.

But this does not mean that the genuineness of the figure Christ diminishes

the further the witness is removed in time. The interval in time between

Luke and Mark does not mean that the theologian must be wary of the later

Gospel. It is even likely that the passage of time will have allowed the

writer to gain a fresh insight into the nature of Christ. As a result of

discipleship, prayer and meditation on his sayings and acts, a new

experience of his reality will have been gained, so that when he proclaims

Christ's message he will be able to say things which before were impossible

or untimely.



When research comes back from St. John's Gospel to an examination of the

earlier ones, this does not mean that it discovers forthwith more

authentic strata of the reality of Christ, but only ones that were

perceived earlier. On the other hand, if, as we proceed from the earliest

to the later statements about him, we find the emergence of strata in the

picture of Christ which show evidence of riper reflection, greater

metaphysical comprehension, and a more concrete appreciation in terms of

contemporary problems, the message proclaimed does not become less genuine;

but factors do emerge and impose themselves precisely because of the

general situation and the stage reached in the progressive unfolding of the

message.



Were we in a position to disregard all such accounts and gain an immediate

impression of Jesus Christ as he was on earth, we would not be confronted

by a "simple" historical Jesus, but by a figure of devastating greatness

and incomprehensibility. Progress in the representation of the portrait of

Christ does not mean that something was being added to what was proclaimed;

it means that we are witnessing the unfolding step by step of that which

"was from the beginning", on the supposition, of course--and this is

fundamental--that as God willed the revelation of the redeeming truth of

his eternal "Word" in Christ, so he also willed and brought it about that

this truth should, in fact, be handed on to later generations;[2] and handed

on in such a way that it could be included in the simplicity of the act of

faith, and need no specialized knowledge to extract it from the text of the

Gospel message.



We have said that the source for our knowledge about Christ is the memory

of the apostles, of all the apostles and throughout the whole time that

they were proclaiming the divine message right up to their death; that is,

from the day of Pentecost until the death of John. These were no mere

individual reporters, each one of whom would be credited only to the extent

of his personal abilities. They spoke as apostles, that is, as "pillars"

and members of the Church. The Church, that is, the sumtotal of local

communities, their faith, liturgical life, prayer, etc., is not something

existing alongside or apart from them, so that it would be legitimate to

make a distinction between a valid original witness and a secondary

"theology of the community".[3] The apostles are themselves the Church. They

are the Church in her earliest kerygmatic phase, when she derives her

commission and authority directly from Christ and the Pentecostal

enlightenment. This phase, as we have said, extends from the author of the

first logion to the writer of the Apocalypse.



It is obviously pertinent to ask what kind of picture of Jesus they painted

in the various historical stages of their preaching. A particular interest

attaches to the question of the picture found in the very earliest

preaching. The search for these strata, however, must not be dominated by a

suspicion as to the validity of that preaching which would tend to assume

that it became less and less reliable as the first century wore on. Our aim

must not be to "get behind" the apostolic preaching in order to reach the

authentic Jesus, thus freeing ourselves from too close a dependence on the

"temporal limitations" of the apostolic message. The authentic Jesus is

revealed to us by the apostles, by them alone, and by all of them together.



The attitude we are criticizing would be, not "scientific", but agnostic.

It would amount to a volatilizing of the only specific object of

theological investigation, and, consequently, of the whole scientific

character of theology. The different ways in which Paul, as compared with

Mark, and John contrasted with Matthew, recount the Gospel message are an

element of their apostolic mission. The fact that they were impelled (or

enabled) to fulfill their task by the changed circumstances of the later

period in which they lived and worked is due just as much to the Spirit of

Christ as was their enlightenment at Pentecost. So the picture of Christ

which is transmitted by the later preaching of the apostles is as

authoritative for the reality of Christ and as much an object of faith as

is the content of the earliest preaching. By the same title, it

constitutes, as readily as the former, the valid object of theology as a

science.



The attitude described earlier also closes its eyes to the full reality of

Christ in terms of method. It begins with the assumption that the first,

"historical" Jesus was the "simple", unmetaphysical, purely human

individual, and that his true greatness lay in his human genius, the depth

of his religious experience, and the power of his teaching. Thereafter, it

is affirmed, this primitive reality was metaphysically inflated in the

course of the first century, was assimilated to the mythical category of

the "Savior" and adapted to suit the religious needs of the communities

which felt the need of a cult figure. To admit this is to abandon at the

outset everything that could merit the name of "revelation" in the true

sense of the term, namely, the communication of a reality not conditioned

by man, but sent to him from God in order to judge and redeem all mankind.

At the same time, it abandons at once everything which the passage of time,

the increasing remoteness from the original event, the development in

historical circumstances, and the tradition that welds all that together,

can contribute to a disclosure of the "beginning" of that Reality which is

the foundation of redemption and the controlling force of history. To

repeat: the contrary of that premise is true. If we could get back to the

"original", that is, if we could work our way back to the picture of Christ

as it existed before it had been turned over in the apostles' minds or

elaborated by their preaching, before it had been assimilated by the

corporate life of the faithful, we could find a figure of Christ even more

colossal and incomprehensible than any conveyed by even the most daring

statements of St. Paul or St. John.



The Christ who interests the scholarly theologian and the faithful

Christian alike is the figure which comes to us from the whole of the

apostolic preaching. And this is so, not because that preaching is

concerned with the "Christ of faith" as distinct from the "Christ of

history", for that would mean that the Christ of faith existed only by

virtue of a religious attitude towards him and was not existent and real by

himself. Later accounts would then be nothing more than idealized versions

of the various experiences of Christ; evidence of the various ways in which

the apostles and their hearers had seen him in the course of the first

century, preliminary drafts for the way in which the faithful of later

generations would view him.



To make sense we must see things the other way around. The Christ whom

serious believers believe in is the original reality. The statements of the

apostles are guides to him which never quite do justice to the fullness of

his divine-human nature. The apostles never state more about the historical

Jesus than he actually was; it is always less. Consequently, everyone who

reads the New Testament aright feels that every sentence is pregnant with

meaning regarding a reality which surpasses all that is said about it.



As opposed to the rationalist approach, true biblical theology must now

accomplish a kind of "Copernican revolution". Its scientific purpose must

not be to isolate from supposedly over-emphasizing representations, as

likewise supposedly simple original reality; its object must be to bring

out clearly all the elemental greatness of the original, on the basis of a

whole series of representations, all of which are valid, but all of which,

in spite of a gradual deepening of perception somehow fall short.



It is this elemental greatness of the original which has been at work in

history, has built up the Church, and has furnished the irrepressible

impulse towards activity and transformation, which is a matter of past as

well as present experience. This is what "is, and was, and shall be". This

is the only source of salvation.



This is the Jesus Christ we intend to study in this work. The psychology of

which we are speaking here is no kind of analysis of a merely human

personality who was an initiator, for there never was such an individual.

Rather does it try to understand the figure which emerges from the whole

apostolic preaching of the first century and which in each phase of its

proclamation points back to an original reality which towers above them

all.



We are perfectly aware that both the object and the method of our

undertaking will be called "dogmatic", in a derogatory sense, by that

theology which calls itself "critical"; that this school considers such a

subject matter to be chimerical and its method unscientific. In fact,

however, the attitude of this school is based upon a false premise, namely,

that the person of Jesus and its historical witness must be treated in

exactly the same way as any other historical phenomenon.



True theology must open its eyes to that peculiar taboo of recent times,

the spirit or principle of "scientism", which claims to be universally

applicable, but in fact belongs to the spheres of the natural sciences and

history, and which, even in those spheres, has assumed a purely positive

and quantitative character. There has been a widespread inclination for

theology to accept this limitation, and as a result much harm has been

done. It is high time theology freed itself from this influence and

appealed to standards consistent with its own nature. We need hardly add

that this does not mean that we are underestimating or ruling out any of

the exacting demands of philology or history.





ENDNOTES



1. It should be noted here that the literature of spirituality,

which is too often neglected by systematic theology, has

anticipated many of the insights in this matter. It would be

useful, therefore, to investigate the writings of the Fathers,

the masters of the spiritual life and the mystics, for the light

they can shed on all this.



2. It passes understanding how any study of the biblical texts

which does not take into account this supposition, but treats

them like any other historical source, can merit the name of

theology. Such an approach presupposes a vagueness about basic

principles which is quite inadmissible in the realm of

scientific thought. We have to do here, however, with a

perversion of the idea of science which can be observed in other

domains also. Science is the study of a subject by means of the

method required by this subject, not by means of some generally

applicable method which undermines its specific character.



3. Theology can be called a science precisely because it uses,

not the methods of general history or psychology, but the method

demanded by the nature of the object being investigated, which

in this case is revelation. This nature is not something purely

personal which the student subjectively attributes to his

subject, and which then has to be discarded as soon as the

investigation becomes scientific. Theology is rigorously

scientific only when it accepts the nature of revelation as the

determining factor in its choice of method. It is obvious that

this consideration recognizes in the phenomenon a special

complication, and that the processes of research require a

special competence in the student's eye to enable him to

identify unerringly his object, and in the dialectic which will

serve him in its conceptual elaboration. Only to the extent in

which theology fulfills these conditions can it be regarded as

truly scientific.