JOHN 3:29-30
This joy of mine is full. He must increase; I must decrease.
An old saying states that everyone would rather see the rising sun than the setting sun. Why everyone? Do you suppose this includes someone whose sun it is that is setting? But why shouldn’t he? The rising sun shines for him just as for all the others—indeed, perhaps shines most brilliantly to his eyes precisely because its luster obscuringly hastens the setting. If a person could ask such a question seriously, he presumably would be so young that he would not understand at all what is being discussed, or so inexperienced that he would deceive himself with an extraordinary and fancied anticipation of the magnanimity with which he would do great deeds in his life; or he might be a man who was trying to toughen his soul the way others toughen their bodies to an ugly and bad toughness; or, finally, a man who used the hardening of the understanding and the cold inflexibility of its conclusions to ridicule people, used against them what he did not use against himself, preached this wisdom to them for their instruction, although he himself nevertheless did not believe it, indeed, even during the preaching kept a back door open through which his secret vanity, like the woman of ill repute (James 2:25), let in the spies of vanity. Everyone else would presumably understand what is being discussed and really understand that self-knowledge is a difficult matter; although it is easy to understand the rest of the world, the understanding suddenly changes very [IV 158] substantially when it pertains to oneself. This should never be forgotten, and just as the child uses a pointer in order not to miss a single letter, so a person should not, if life is to have deeper meaning, become accustomed to understand everything in general, should not be in a hurry to understand everything, but should patiently follow the pointer that continually points to himself. And even though in every other sense it is just a figurative expression to say that we see the finger of God in life, a person who is concerned about himself understands it quite literally, because all deeper and more inward self-knowledge is under divine guidance and continually sees the finger of God that points to him. To miss one letter confuses the whole word, and yet this confusion is nothing compared with the confusion that occurs when a person, in understanding life in its totality and the history of the human race, skips over one human being—himself—since the individual human being is, after all, not like a single letter, in itself a meaningless part of the word, but is the whole word. And yet this happens very frequently, and therefore very little is learned from life. Even one who lives the most secluded and forgotten life is bound to have a great abundance of examples, admonitions, warnings, and disciplines if only he does not evade the finger that is pointing to him, since the most simply constructed sundial gives the hour accurately if only the sun’s rays are permitted to fall on it.
How often that old saying is repeated this way in the world, is used in the right place by the observer, but how seldom it is understood in good time, and when understanding finally dawned and it was too late, how did it sound? Moreover, how easy it is for the single individual to evade the reference, since the saying is so general! General discussion of general truths can certainly give a person much to remember and can develop his understanding, but it is of only very little benefit to him, as little as it is of benefit to have an arsenal full of weapons that are inappropriate to one when there is use for them. Above all, generality is not for upbuilding, because one is never built up [opbygges] in general, any more than a house is erected [opføres] in general. Only when the words are said by the right person in the right situation in the right way, only then has the saying done everything it can to guide the single individual to do honestly what one otherwise is quick enough to do—to refer everything to oneself. And even though divine and human law forbids coveting what is one’s neighbor’s, it is never forbidden to covet the neighbor’s advice or to use his guidance. Therefore, everything is in order here, because [IV 159] what we have said holds in full measure for the words of John the Baptizer read earlier, and no one need have any scruples about appropriating these words.
So it was John the Baptizer who said these words. He lived in the Judean desert, far from the vanity that bickers about the place of honor, far from the fickleness that elevates and drags down, celebrates and crucifies, as far as his clothing was from soft raiment and his nature from the pliancy of a reed.184 He was not the Messiah, not one of the old prophets, not the prophet;185 he was the voice of one crying in the wilderness,186 and he cried in the wilderness to prepare the way for the one who was to come after him, the thongs of whose sandals he was not worthy to loosen.187 Yet he himself was no ordinary man, “the greatest among those born of women.”188 His origin was as marvelous as the origin of the one whose coming he proclaimed, but the difference here again was the same as the difference between the marvel that an aged woman becomes pregnant,189 which is contrary to the order of nature, and that a pure virgin bears a child by the power of God,190 which is above the order of nature. Is not this difference already a beautiful intimation of the difference between the setting and the rising! And he cried in the wilderness until the crowd’s attention aroused the attention of the council to the point that it sent emissaries to him. But he did not misunderstand himself or his sojourn in solitude or his camel-hair shirt or his food in the desert,191 as if all this were merely a means for him to pave his own way to honor and esteem among the people. No, he was and he remained the voice crying in the wilderness. This was his task; he himself certainly perceived its significance, but he also knew that its significance was that it would be abolished and forgotten, like the night watchman’s cry when it is obvious to all that day has broken. Then rose the sun of him whose morning star aroused the wonder of the wise men; its glory shone, and no one understood better than John that its rising was the setting of his sun. But he rejoiced over it as deeply as the patriarchs who had longed for the sight,192 as sincerely as the believers for whom it continued to shine. And yet he knew that the ceremony after which he was named would be abolished, would disappear as a baptism with water in contrast to a baptism with fire and the Holy Spirit.193 Then the news came to him that this had happened, [IV 160] and his disciples were despondent because the person to whom John had borne witness was baptizing and everyone was coming to him,194 but John replied: This joy of mine is full. He must increase; I must decrease.
The same thing that happened to the greatest among those born of women also happens to lesser ones; what happens in the unique decision also happens in the lesser ones, and the words are not profanely used by learning from them to compose oneself in the lesser situation of one’s own life. The words are not dragged down to the low level of a worldly wisdom, particularly since one does not wish to forget that just as one has been helped by the words, there are still one concern and one joy left, because everyone does indeed and should participate in the glorious outcome of that unique decision. Therefore, even though the observation does not dwell on that event itself, it and the way the words are applied can nevertheless be upbuilding, just as the concubine’s son was not without Abraham’s blessing,195 even though he was not in the distinctive sense the child of promise. And the only one who would not need the lighter food would be the person so lost in joy over the gloriousness of the one who must increase that he did not notice at all, still less was troubled by, the similar thing that happens to himself and to others in the lesser decisions.
Who does not know that things like these have happened and do happen in the world—that someone who once ruled over countries and kingdoms has ceased to rule and is obliged to see a more powerful ruler take his place; that someone who once was hailed with jubilation soon, yes, so soon that the whole thing seems to have been a dream, hears the same jubilation shouting another name; that someone whose commanding figure was familiar to everyone regards himself in the next moment with the anxiety of uncertainty about whether he has lost his mind or the world its memory so that it confuses with him someone else; that the master whose pupil only yesterday sat at his feet must bow his shoulders today under the other’s advancement; that the businessman who was kind enough to set his servant on his path now sees that his path means the benefactor’s downfall; that the girl who once filled her beloved’s thoughts now sits and sees his bold ambition pursuing a higher goal; that the singer whose words were on everyone’s lips is forgotten today and his songs have been more than replaced; that the orator whose words echoed everywhere must now seek the solitude of the desert if he wants echo; that the friend from youth who was on an equal basis with his fellows now with amazement perceives the distance;196 that the lowly cottage where the parents lived, [IV 161] where the humble cradle stood, is now collapsing like a recollection that cannot catch up with the mighty. And yet, how strange—if you let your thoughts dwell on those distinguished people whose memory the generations have preserved, you will find that the way each individual distinguished himself is very different, and you will find in turn that several are distinguished by the same thing. But in that select group you still seem to lack one place, and yet the lack is indeed a contradiction; how would the one whose task it was to be reconciled—to being forgotten—find a place in recollection? But for this very reason it is of importance to consider it by itself, and it is especially beautiful to do this—because no earthly reward is beckoning.
So let us then deliberate in more detail on what frame of mind is the right one and consider, which amounts to the same thing, how John said these words: He must increase; I must decrease.
John said them in humble self-denial. From the very beginning, he understood this as his mission in the world; therefore in a way he was diminishing from the very beginning, or at least he was familiar with the thought, since otherwise he would have made the way difficult for the one who was to come by too powerfully attracting the attention of the crowd or holding it spellbound too long. To that extent, the Baptizer’s life seems to be unique and incapable of providing guidance for others. Nevertheless, similarities to such a mission may be found also in less important situations. Many a person has been born since that day whose destiny was only to pave the way and who early in his life had to realize that this was his work. From the very beginning, such a person is under the necessity of denying himself and must not first have the experience of distinction, which, the longer it lasts, the more easily it comes to beguile self-denial’s liberating and loosening power in a spell; but on the other hand every such person has never in his whole life, not in youth’s hope, not in adulthood’s achievement, experienced the beautiful period in which the sun stops its course, stands still,197 and still does not set.
We shall not decide which life fights the good fight most easily, but we all agree that every human being ought to fight the good fight,198 from which no one is shut out, and yet this [IV 162] is so glorious that if it were granted only once to a past generation under exceptional circumstances—yes, what a description envy and discouragement would then know how to give! The difference is about the same as that in connection with the thought of death. As soon as a human being is born, he begins to die. But the difference is that there are some people for whom the thought of death comes into existence with birth and is present to them in the quiet peacefulness of childhood and the buoyancy of youth; whereas others have a period in which this thought is not present to them until, when the years run out, the years of vigor and vitality, the thought of death meets them on their way. Who, now, is going to decide which life was easier, whether it was the life of those who continually lived with a certain reserve because the thought of death was present to them or the life of those who so abandoned themselves to life that they almost forgot the existence of death? And if in this regard even the example of John does not apply to all, for those to whom it does apply it can indeed be instructive, because there are temptations here also. Or was it not a temptation when the council’s emissaries199 almost occasioned him to misunderstand himself? But John stuck to what he had understood about himself, his humble task and his humble relation to the one to come; the council did not disturb him.
It is easy to find partially or totally analogous situations on a small scale in everyday life, and that the situations are smaller, not in any valid sense crucial, not world-historical, not historic, makes no essential difference; an arithmetic problem is the same whether it involves millions or pennies. If parents have the right understanding of themselves, their humble self-denial begins the minute their child is born. This does not mean that the child is to be sovereign without listening and obeying; but, although this subordination to the parents is essential for the child, in the expression of joy that a child is born into the world200 there is a beautiful harmony with the thought: He must increase; we must decrease. Or would it not be foolish for someone to think that this is valid only for a much later time and for a certain few parents who discovered to their amazement that their child was superior to others? Is not this thought really insulting to parents, inasmuch as it would have brought about a distortion so that they, even though they fought the good fight, would have spoiled it because, forgetting that they were parents, they fought the good fight more as outsiders in relation to an outsider.
And now the many to whom the Baptizer’s exalted example is entirely applicable, although in unpretentiousness, the [IV 163] many who at an early age are given to understand humbly that for them the form of a servant201 is not something assumed, those who at an early age are prompted to bear in mind that for them there is someone who must increase while they decrease! Perhaps to such a one there at times also comes advice from higher places, a misunderstood hint, a false call, but then there presumably was also someone who was not distracted in his humble self-denial, who did not foolishly snatch at phantoms and did not grudgingly and peevishly continue in lowliness. But even if a person (whatever the occasion of his self-denial, since the essential in self-denial is indeed that one deny oneself) does not comprehend from the very beginning that he is decreasing, he nevertheless ought never be entirely ignorant of the thought that he can come to that. Every human being is only an instrument and does not know when the moment will come when he will be put aside. If he himself does not at times evoke this thought, he is a hireling, an unfaithful servant, who is trying to free himself and to cheat the Lord of the uncertainty in which he comprehends his own nothingness. That much in life is empty and worthless, people certainly do know, but how frequently the single individual makes an exception, and even the highest mission in the spiritual world is only an errand, and one who is equipped for it with all spiritual-intellectual gifts is only on an errand—but why is the sending out of angels so beautiful, inasmuch as they return again to God’s throne so speedily that they have no time to be tempted by the thought that they are taking care of their own affairs! In the Gospel, it is the master who goes on a journey, and the unfaithful servant thinks that he has gone so far away that he will never return.202 In life, it is the servant who goes on a journey, and the unfaithful servant deceives himself into thinking that he can go so far away that the master cannot take away what has been entrusted to him. But property and gold can vanish like a dream, and the honor of men is swiftly changed to mockery, and the time of service can soon be over. But the thought of being dismissed liberates the servant to be one of God’s co-workers,203 just as the thought of death liberates a person, saves him from being a bond servant who wants to belong only to the earth, from being a cheat who does not want to belong to God.204
In humble self-denial the Baptizer spoke these words. But [IV 164] in another sense does not his situation seem even less able to be a guide and an example for anyone, because the one who came after him truly did do him full justice. Just as the humble self-denial with which John prepared the way for the one who was to come is seldom seen in this world, so there is never seen a peaceful and gentle entry such as the entry of the one who came not to be served but to serve.205 Frequently, however, the successor comes in such a way that the sound of his footsteps in the distance only awakens the predecessor’s anxiety and resentment, so that his approach seems to be not to fulfill but to trample down what has been begun, until “his feet stand at the door ready to carry him out” (Acts 5:9). This is certainly true, but it does not follow that one wrong makes the other wrong right, even though it seems to explain it, indeed, to excuse it; and nevertheless the good ought to be done and will be done “if the spirit that dwells in us does not arouse jealousy and envy but gives abundant grace” (James 4:5). Even though the steps of him who came after John were humble and could not exasperate, even though his appearance could not tempt the Baptizer, because the one who came after him “had been before him,”206 even though he witnessed that he was the greatest among those born of women, yet he also declared that the least of his disciples was greater than John.207 Indeed, could it be put any more forcefully that all John’s work would simply be discontinued, that his baptism was a preparation that would be discarded, his preaching a voice in the desert,208 his form but a weak shadow, his own life a shutting out? And yet John himself was not responsible, because of his unbelief, for being shut out, but his work was simply that which he completed with the utmost zeal.
In humble self-denial John said these words and said them to his disciples. In their eyes he was still the great one; they were accustomed to hail him as master. Secretly they perhaps had nourished the thought that he himself was the one who was to come; indeed, before them the Baptizer might have wanted to suppress it. Now he has made his appearance—the expected one—and the disheartened disciples trusted that the news they were bringing to the Baptizer would elicit from him the desired explanation. The expected one had come; the Baptizer could have let him have the stage, himself stepped aside, hidden himself in an out-of-the-way place with his disciples, and in their eyes continued to be the master, even though he himself had not uttered that thought, even less let [IV 165] it be known in the world, where it would only be a hindrance to the one whose way he was supposed to prepare. How beneficial it is to contemplate what is worthy of veneration! Even what would have been excusable, humanly speaking, yes, almost laudable, we are ashamed to attribute to the Baptizer, not merely because the opposite has been stated; but even if nothing had been stated, who would falsely impute these thoughts to him! He remained true to himself; precisely when his disciples’ news seemed to call for a different response, he gave witness to them of that which he had proclaimed in the wilderness before the coming one appeared and had preached to the people. He requested them to witness along with him that this had been his witness from the beginning, and the disciples had to witness along with him that this witness was his conclusion, his yes and his amen.
This was John. If it is true that something similar may be found in life’s lesser situations, does what could resemble John actually resemble him? Perhaps there was someone who did not fail to notice that a new day was beginning to dawn; who the successor would be was not yet discernible—then he wanted to know nothing. But daybreak cannot be concealed; nevertheless, who the coming one209 was could not be determined. Then, like Herod, he ordered that all the children under two years of age should be killed.210 —Perhaps there was someone whose sun of fortune had begun to descend, and someone else was the favorite. Well, who the fortunate one is going to be is not an issue of truth; so he consulted with spite, and the arrow of revenge that flies in the dark struck the hated one. —Perhaps a new Pharaoh was enthroned who knew not Joseph211 and the great services he had rendered, but the forgotten one himself brought about the forgetting of his services by the one who knew him and now knew his rancor. —Or he hid himself from people; he was not going to benefit the new by his witness. He took it as a disgrace that his time was over, just as if the disgrace were that his time was over rather than that his soul was unfamiliar with humility and self-denial. —Perhaps there was someone who saw his decline and then abandoned himself to grief and withered away in grieving, as if this decline were death, as if only someone who is planted by streams of water212 increased and not also someone who plants himself in the blessed soil of self-denial.
Yes, how many roads there are in the hour of decision! And [IV 166] yet there is only one road; the others are wrong roads, whether they lead to the place where envy concocts its plans, where grief has its haunts, where the worm of desire does not die,213 where disconsolateness stares at its loss, where mockery alarms others with its vile wisdom, or where the tongue of slander betrays the abundance of the heart214—all these roads lead away, far away, and thought does not even dare to follow them. But humble self-denial remains true to itself and continues in harmony with the one who ought to increase, even though he himself must decrease, as did John, since with that witness his sun went down, and yet when was he greater than he was at that moment? But as a result he, too, increased and was greatest when he went down.
With genuine joy John said these words. If you, my listener, recollect, as you indeed do, the Baptizer’s powerful preaching unto repentance, his prophetic boldness in judging the high and the low, the holy wrath with which he laid the ax to the foot of the tree215—then you are bound to be deeply moved when you consider the sad gentleness, the joyous fervency, with which he speaks of his relation to the coming one. That under a camel-hair shirt there can also beat a heart so rich in feeling not only for truth and justice, to which his life was indeed dedicated! That he has been able to preserve this feeling out there in the desert! That the soft breeze of self-denying joy can be sensed in the thunder of the judgment!216 His statement points out exactly what it was supposed to point out, but the expression is so celebrative, so festively beautiful, that one is almost tempted to picture the Baptizer’s stern figure dressed in festive garments as if he were on his way to a banquet,217 a friendly man who is bringing happy greetings, yes, as if that earnest, dark hermit, who mournfully sang to the people even if they would not weep, as if he, mellowed, joined in the dance in accordance with the joyful game, as if once again the children in the marketplace would not understand,218 even though it involved them—and the Baptizer was the only one who was excluded. Oh, there is an emotion that has an overabundance of beautiful words and is very quick to melt into sentimental moods, but when the man in the camel-hair shirt whom the storms did not affect, when he is mellowed, who is then not moved by his words! His mood is no false feeling; on the [IV 167] contrary, the discriminating judgment of truth is present in the words he speaks, and the zealous judge has judged himself first of all: “No one can receive anything except what is given to him from heaven” (v. 27). These are the words with which he judges himself, distinguishes between himself and the one to come; it is the judge who is speaking, and yet the statement is a eulogy of his having fulfilled it. Now that he has put his house in order, his wedding greeting follows: “He who has the bride is the bridegroom, but the bridegroom’s friend, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now full” (v. 29). Then he thinks of himself and of his situation, that he is the alien, indeed, the one shut out, and now this is his farewell: He must increase; I must decrease.
With genuine joy he said these words. Now it is certainly true that his whole life had been designed for the appearance of the one who now appeared, and to that extent it was certainly bound to give him joy. But it still does not follow that his joy was full, just as we must not forget, either, that his having understood his life this way from the beginning was his work of noble self-denial and the triumph of that work is that the joy is full. It is certainly true that he did not see the coming one indifferently shove him aside but saw him advancing as a prince of peace, but still the witness remains the same. Even if no one else comprehended the chasmic abyss between the coming one and the Baptizer, he comprehended it, and yet he gave full expression to it and to his joy that this was precisely the way it was. For him this joy was full, that he was seen in all his lowliness beside the glory of the coming one. If this did not become clear, then for him his joy would not have been full. No wonder the believer was bound to rejoice that the glory of the expected one was the glory of God, since he shared in it and precisely thereby became greater than John; but he was indeed the one who decreased.
With genuine joy he said these words; or do you find some deceit in his mouth, some false feeling that hides the truth, some half-truth that is glossed over with excessive feeling? The expression itself is presumably just as fervent, just as beautiful, as that which it expresses, which is certainly the most beautiful—the genuine joy of self-denial. As for its truth, we are well aware that there is a wisdom that is especially adept at understanding the past with hindsight, in calming the minds of those who are dead and forgotten, in guiding those who have helped themselves, in offering consolation that is irrelevant to anyone. Wisdom of that kind, which never [IV 168] dares to revive the past, lest it become apparent that it knows nothing at the crucial moment but everything too late, wisdom of that kind presumably would at this point explain that John nevertheless always retained a certain vanishing significance as preparation, a certain partial justification as a passageway for the higher. This is not the way John understood it; this is not the way he wanted to be understood. His self-denial was deeper and therefore his joy higher. He who has the bride, he declares, is the bridegroom. He could not have stated more explicitly that he himself was shut out. He understood the difference exceedingly well; no intrusiveness would bring him closer, but this was why for him the joy was full. He was the bridegroom’s friend, who stands and hears his voice and rejoices greatly; but the least one in the kingdom of heaven is greater than John, because he does not stand outside listening to the bridegroom’s voice.
With genuine joy John said these words and said them to his disciples. And even though his joy was full, he still could have hidden it in his heart, he could have expressed it less explicitly and not in such a way that his own diminishing had to become conspicuous to his disciples, who were scarcely prepared to comprehend his joy. Indeed, he could have done it for the sake of his disciples so that they, who perhaps had set their hopes on him despite his witness, might not all too deeply feel how much they were being diminished along with the master. But no! His joy became full for him the more he was diminished. Just as the joy of the believers in heaven will be great because of the glory, so his joy was full in being diminished.
This was John, and this is how the single individual is to fulfill something similar in lesser situations. If he has first of all learned to deny himself humbly and to master his mind, then joy will also be victorious. But the first must be learned first—later, that which is greater; one is first initiated into the lesser mystery, later into the greater mystery. And no one dares to be totally without this thought. In an earlier time, it was the custom to contemplate one’s death frequently, until one was so quietly intimate with this thought that it did not at all disturb one’s task in life; indeed, one was so intimate with the thought that one even had time to consider one’s apparel and had everything ready. So also with the person who in good time becomes intimate with the death-thought of self-denial; he, too, will have time to contemplate the fullness of the joy that is the incorruptible apparel of self-denial.
[IV 169] And yet life seems to provide contrary evidence—not that this cannot happen but that it does not happen. Humanly speaking, it is already something great if a person denies himself and finds that another ought to increase and he ought to decrease and resigns himself to it with the curious inconsolable compliance with which one is reconciled to one’s fate. An ancient pagan poet, who was quite famous but now, advanced in years, harbored the thought that his time would soon be over, said to the blond youth who sat beside him watching the contest, “You see, my son, how it goes: the loser is silent, and the crowd jubilates.”219 And so it really is, and the jubilation is not for the loser, but he goes his solitary way and is reconciled to being defeated and bears no grudge against the victor—but that he would be seen in the arena, that he would rejoice over the other’s victory—this is asking too much, and that his joy would be full is preposterous. —Perhaps there was someone who also saw another increase, and his heart did not hide his envy, but his congratulations were nevertheless ambiguous and not gratifying to hear. —Or he could not forget himself over the bridegroom’s voice, and his participation brought to mind his own special significance, and so his joy was not and did not become full. —Or his joy was of a kind that turned someone or other’s mind to him away from the joyful. —Or even in the moment of joy “he grumbled against” (James 5:9) the stronger one, because he himself had to be diminished. —Or he stayed away because his mind was too weak to preserve the joy when he would hear the bridegroom’s voice. —Or his heart hid more joy than he admitted even to his intimate friends. —But John’s joy was full; he was the bridegroom’s friend, and his joy was full; he stood with him, and his joy was full; he heard his voice, and his joy was full.
He must increase—who is this “he”? In the sense in which we have used the word, everyone can identify him with another name; this is how change occurs here on earth: one increases and another decreases, and today it is I and tomorrow you. But one who in humble self-denial and with genuine joy saw another increase—his mind will be turned into a new joy, and this new joy of his will surely be full.
An old saying states that everyone would rather see the rising [IV 170] sun than the setting sun. Why everyone? Do you suppose this includes someone whose sun it is that is setting? Yes, for he, too, ardently desires to rejoice just as the bridegroom’s friend does when he stands and hears the bridegroom’s voice.