Whole Being: Life Alchemy
Being, Belonging, Becoming
My Explorations With Bonhoeffer
No one will like what I write about Bonhoeffer. It’s not because I will say anything bad. It’s because Bonhoeffer is so beloved and people have their individual preferences on how to tell his story.
I’m not a Christian historian, not a Bonhoeffer scholar...hell, I’m not even a Christian. But will you share Bonhoeffer with me? I admire him. His life, his choices, his unwavering stance against tyranny, these things matter. He is no longer just a German executed like so many; he has become a moral archetype, a symbol of unwavering commitment to truth. In this sense, his legacy functions in a way similar to what Carl Jung might call an archetype, the self-sacrificing truth-bearer. His story has expanded into something that transcends Christianity, making him a universal figure for ethical courage. I have thoughts to explore, questions to wrestle with. If nothing else, I will learn from his integrity, from the way he lived his beliefs to the end. At most, I may find strength for my own life. Here are my explorations.
Bonhoeffer: A Moral Beacon
Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s legacy, like that of Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., and others who stood for justice, has transcended history to take on a mythic quality. His story is no longer bound by its Christian roots but has become a universal testament to ethical courage.
Bonhoeffer’s life suggests that moral responsibility runs so deep that it must be embodied, it is something we live, rather than merely believe.
Throughout history, certain figures rise beyond their time, not because of what they taught, but because of how they lived and died. Bonhoeffer now stands among them, not merely as a theologian who resisted Nazism, but as a moral archetype, a symbol of unwavering commitment to truth. In this sense, his legacy functions much like Carl Jung’s archetype of the self-sacrificing truth-bearer. He represents the individual who refuses to be moved by fear, who holds fast to integrity even when it demands the highest cost.
For a non-Christian, this willingness to give one’s life for a truth greater than oneself can be seen as part of a larger heroic tradition. Across cultures, figures who stand for justice, even unto death, become more powerful in their absence than they were in life. They cease being merely historical individuals and instead become symbols, like Socrates drinking the hemlock for philosophical integrity, or the Bodhisattva who delays enlightenment for the liberation of others.
Perhaps the real power of Bonhoeffer today is not just in what he wrote or even in his opposition to fascism, but in the way he has become a mythic guide for moral resistance. His presence in contemporary discourse is not about dogma; it is about the radical insistence that truth is worth more than personal safety, and that living one’s convictions is itself a kind of sacred act.
This parallels the archetype of Jesus, not as a religious figure, but as an embodiment of truth so complete that it outlives one’s own existence. Jesus, like Bonhoeffer, became more than a historical individual; he became a mythopoetic force, a model of sacrifice, justice, and transformation. Across cultures, those who stand for justice even unto death become more powerful in their absence than they were in life. They cease to be mere historical figures and instead become eternal symbols.
Both Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. had prophetic visions of their own deaths, yet neither allowed this foreknowledge to deter them from their work. Lincoln, just days before his assassination, confided in his associates that he had dreamed of wandering the White House and encountering a funeral procession. When he asked who had died, a soldier replied, "The president. He was killed by an assassin." Whether Lincoln saw this as a premonition or a reflection of the burden he carried, it did not cause him to retreat. He continued his efforts to heal a fractured nation, advocating for reconciliation and the reconstruction of a United States where democracy might endure. He did not flinch from his responsibility, even as he sensed the cost.
Martin Luther King Jr. also seemed to know that his time was short. The night before he was assassinated, he delivered his final speech in Memphis, declaring, "I've been to the mountaintop… and I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight, that we as a people will get to the Promised Land." It was a moment of clarity, an acknowledgment that the struggle for justice would outlive him. Yet, like Lincoln, he did not falter. He continued the fight for civil rights, marching forward despite threats, bombings, and imprisonments. Both men understood that the work they did was bigger than their lifetimes. The possibility of their deaths was not a deterrent; it was almost an affirmation that they were on the right path. Even knowing they would not see the full realization of their dreams, they acted as if they would. Their work remained unfinished in their lifetimes, but their sacrifice ensured that others could carry it forward.
The power of Bonhoeffer today is not just in his writings or in his opposition to fascism, but in how he has become a mythic guide for moral resistance. His presence in contemporary discourse is not about dogma; it is about the radical insistence that truth is worth more than personal safety, and that living one’s convictions is itself a sacred act. His story, unmoored from time and religious affiliation, now belongs to all who value integrity in the face of injustice.
Who Am I?
by Deitrich Bonhoeffer
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As thought it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectations of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
Writing in the Washington Post, Victoria Barnett—one of the general editors of the 17-volume “Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works” (English Edition) and director of Programs on Ethics, Religion and the Holocaust at the U. S. Holocaust Memorial Museum—offers a note of caution to those who would see Bonhoeffer only as a hero on a pedestal:
The story of Nazi Germany is the story of what historian Klemens von Klemperer, himself a refugee from Nazism, once described as a “consensual dictatorship,” one in which the vast majority of Germans became complicit in the Nazi system. Even those who turned against it were unable to keep their hands completely clean.
Bonhoeffer saw what had happened to his country, and he wrote about the poignancy of trying to do good when there are no good options. In Bonhoeffer’s own life there is an ongoing and striking tension between silence and speaking, between compromise and protest, between the moments when he acted and those in which he did not.
We cannot understand his wartime and prison writings if we see only the heroic Bonhoeffer. “We have been silent witnesses of evil deeds…are we still of any use?” he wrote fellow conspirators in December 1942. With regard to the profound failures of his church under Nazism, he charged that it had fought “only for its own self-preservation,” thereby losing the very capacity to bring “reconciliation and redemption to humankind and to the world.”
Bonhoeffer, The Myth the Man the Legend
By Kathleen Reeves
Here is a profound question—To ask whether Bonhoeffer is more powerful as a historical man or as a mythic figure. There’s a tension here between the two ways of understanding him: the real Bonhoeffer, a human with flaws and limitations, and the mythic Bonhoeffer, a symbol of moral resistance and sacrifice.
Some scholars and theologians seek to return Bonhoeffer to his historical reality, arguing that mythologizing him can strip away his complexity and turn him into an abstraction. They remind us that he was not a saint in the traditional sense—he struggled with doubts, navigated political tensions, and, at one point, considered nonviolent resistance before ultimately choosing to participate in a plot to assassinate Hitler. He was not simply a passive martyr but an active resistor.
Bringing him back to history means reckoning with his moral dilemmas, his evolving theological views, and his humanity.
But is he as powerful as a man? In some ways, yes—perhaps even more so. The real Bonhoeffer, when studied as a historical figure, is a testament to moral complexity. He does not offer a clean, uncomplicated example of righteousness. He forces us to ask difficult ethical questions: When does one move from pacifism to resistance? Can violence ever be justified in the pursuit of justice?
What does it mean to act responsibly in a world where evil is institutionalized? If we see him as a man, we must confront these ambiguities, and that confrontation is itself powerful.
However, myths serve a different function. They are not concerned with the specifics of history but with the transmission of enduring truths. Mythologizing Bonhoeffer lifts him out of time, making his story a beacon for all resistance against tyranny. He becomes a guide, an archetype of the individual who stands against overwhelming power for the sake of truth. This is how figures like Jesus, Gandhi, or Joan of Arc persist beyond their lifetimes—as narratives that inspire action across generations.
So, the question isn’t just whether Bonhoeffer is more powerful as a man or as a myth, but rather what kind of power each form holds. The historical Bonhoeffer challenges us with the messiness of real-world ethics, while the mythic Bonhoeffer provides a clear, unwavering symbol of resistance. Perhaps we need both—the human to remind us that courage is possible despite fear, and the myth to inspire us when we feel powerless.
Would you rather see Bonhoeffer as the struggling man or the unwavering myth? Or is there a way to hold both?
Your Own Personal Bonhoeffer
The idea of a personal Bonhoeffer is a fascinating one—an acknowledgment that each person encounters him through their own lens, shaped by their own struggles, values, and longings. Bonhoeffer is not just one thing, not just a theologian, a resistor, or a martyr, but a figure with many facets that resonate differently depending on what we seek. He was not static—he grew, evolved, wrestled with doubt, and ultimately chose a path that ensured his death but also his immortality.
For some, the personal Bonhoeffer is the theologian, the man who sought to reconcile faith with action, who refused to separate the two. He insisted that Christianity could not be lived in retreat from the world but had to be embodied in ethical choices. This is why his time in the Black church in Harlem was transformative—because there, he encountered a faith that was alive, forged in suffering yet full of joy and strength. He saw in the African American church a living theology of resistance, where faith was not just about belief but about survival, dignity, and liberation. This experience changed him, seeding the convictions that would later shape his opposition to Hitler.
For others, the personal Bonhoeffer is the resistor, the man who could not stand by while his country descended into moral catastrophe. He tried, at first, to work within the system, to be a quiet critic, but he soon realized that passive resistance was complicity. His decision to join the conspiracy to assassinate Hitler was a radical break from his earlier pacifist leanings, but it was not made lightly—it was a moral choice made in the face of an impossible dilemma. Here, Bonhoeffer speaks to those who wrestle with ethics, who wonder whether righteousness always means nonviolence, or whether, in some cases, standing for justice means taking action against evil, even at the cost of one’s own soul.
Then there is the Bonhoeffer of sacrifice—the warrior who knows that death is the price of integrity. He did not enter into martyrdom with romanticism. He was afraid. He knew what was coming. Yet he did not waver. He chose to be moved only by death, and in that choice, he became something more. Not just a theologian, not just a political resistor, but a symbol of what it means to remain unshaken when the world demands your silence.
For me, Bonhoeffer speaks in all of these ways, but especially as a figure of transformation. He was not born as the Bonhoeffer we remember. He became him. Through experience, through listening to others (especially the Black church in America), through wrestling with faith, and through recognizing that words were not enough. He embodies the courage of becoming, of being willing to change, to question oneself, to evolve, and ultimately to take responsibility for one’s convictions in the most profound way possible.
Your personal Bonhoeffer might be the one who is becoming, who listens, who struggles, who arrives at a truth step by step. And perhaps that is what makes him so compelling—that each of us, believer or not, can find something of ourselves in him.
Early Life & Theological Formation (1906–1930)
- February 4, 1906 – Born in Breslau, Germany, into an upper-class, intellectual family. His father was a psychiatrist, and his mother homeschooled the children with a focus on moral responsibility.
- 1923 (Age 17) – Begins studying theology at the University of Tübingen but later moves to Berlin. His early theology is academic and traditional, focusing on the intellectual side of faith.
- 1927 (Age 21) – Completes his doctoral dissertation Sanctorum Communio, exploring the church as a "community of saints." This work emphasizes the importance of the church as a living, ethical body rather than an institution.
- 1928 (Age 22) – Serves as a pastor in Barcelona, Spain, and begins developing his ideas about the role of the church in real-life struggles.
Encountering a Living Faith: The Harlem Experience (1930–1931)
- 1930 (Age 24) – Travels to New York City for postgraduate studies at Union Theological Seminary. He critiques the American academic approach to theology as too detached from lived experience.
- 1930–1931 – Attends Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, where he is deeply moved by the Black church’s theology of suffering, hope, and justice. He sees a faith that is not just thought but embodied in struggle.
- Impact: This experience plants the seeds of his later resistance to Nazi ideology, showing him how faith must be actively engaged in fighting oppression.
Early Resistance & Break with the German Church (1933–1935)
- 1933 (Age 27) – Hitler comes to power. Bonhoeffer is one of the first theologians to publicly oppose Nazi ideology, delivering a radio broadcast warning against the dangers of a leader becoming an idol (the Führer principle). The broadcast is cut off mid-sentence.
- April 1933 – Writes The Church and the Jewish Question, condemning Nazi anti-Semitism and calling on the church to resist.
- June 1933 – Joins the Confessing Church, a group of pastors and theologians rejecting the state-controlled German church, which had begun accepting Nazi policies.
- 1935 (Age 29) – Founds an underground seminary in Finkenwalde, where he teaches seminarians a vision of Christianity rooted in deep community, spiritual practice, and resistance to state power.
The Cost of Discipleship & Radicalization (1936–1940)
- 1937 (Age 31) – Publishes The Cost of Discipleship, critiquing “cheap grace” (faith without sacrifice) and calling for a Christianity that actively resists injustice.
- 1937–1940 – The Gestapo shuts down his seminary. Many of his students are arrested. He becomes more politically radicalized, realizing that preaching resistance is not enough—action is required.
From Pacifism to Conspiracy (1940–1943)
- 1940 (Age 34) – Joins the German military intelligence (Abwehr) but as part of a secret anti-Nazi resistance within it.
- 1941 (Age 35) – Travels internationally under the cover of military work, trying to convince allies that there is a German resistance movement willing to overthrow Hitler.
- 1942 (Age 36) – His moral struggle deepens: Is it justifiable to use violence against Hitler? He decides that in extreme cases, taking life is necessary to prevent greater evil. "Before God, we are responsible for what we do—and for what we fail to do."
- 1943 (Age 37) – Becomes engaged to Maria von Wedemeyer. Just months later, he is arrested for helping Jews escape Germany. His involvement in the plot to kill Hitler is not yet discovered.
Imprisonment, Final Writings, and Execution (1943–1945)
- 1943–1944 – Imprisoned at Tegel Military Prison. Here, he writes Letters and Papers from Prison, reflecting on his theology in new ways:
- Calls for a "religionless Christianity"—a faith not bound by church rituals but fully engaged with the world.
- Sees the need for a post-religious spiritual ethic, where faith is lived out in courage and action rather than dogma.
- July 1944 (Age 38) – The failed July 20 assassination attempt on Hitler leads the Nazis to uncover Bonhoeffer’s role in the conspiracy.
- April 9, 1945 (Age 39) – Executed by hanging at Flossenbürg concentration camp, just weeks before the war ends. His final recorded words:
"This is the end—for me, the beginning of life."
Bonhoeffer, Myth, and the Stories That Shape Us -A Consideration of the Movie:
Bonhoeffer: Pastor. Spy. Assassin.
There’s something profound about how we tell stories, especially when those stories belong to figures who have shaped the moral and spiritual compass of our collective history. I recently found myself reflecting on this while engaging with Todd Komarnicki's movie about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The film, like any creative endeavor, is more than a recitation of facts. It’s an interpretation, a distillation, an attempt to capture something essential.
And isn’t that the challenge with all storytelling? How do you compress the fullness of a life into a few hours, pages, or words? What gets included, and what gets left behind? This isn’t just a practical question—it’s an existential one. When we tell the stories of great figures like Bonhoeffer, we aren’t just recounting history. We’re engaging with archetypes, the universal patterns of human experience that Carl Jung saw as the scaffolding of the psyche.
Bonhoeffer is more than a martyr. He is a symbol—a teacher, a moral compass, a call to action. The mythology around him isn’t a distortion but a deeper truth. Myths, as Joseph Campbell taught us, are not "untrue." They are stories that resonate across time, providing meaning that transcends historical specificity. To reduce Bonhoeffer to a set of bullet points or a mere victim of Nazi brutality is to lose sight of his symbolic power.
When I listened to the director Todd Komarnicki speak about his personal reflections, I felt a genuine attempt to grapple with these questions. His vision of Bonhoeffer isn’t a historical documentary; it’s an archetypal exploration. The movie, whatever its flaws, invites us to sit with the questions Bonhoeffer himself wrestled with: What does it mean to live with integrity in the face of evil? How do we hold fast to faith and hope when the world is crumbling?
We know this, Eric Metaxas, author of the 2010 biography Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, has been a subject of significant controversy. Critics, including Bonhoeffer scholars and family members, argue that Metaxas misrepresents Bonhoeffer's theology and legacy, portraying him as a fundamentalist evangelical and aligning his story with contemporary political agendas. They contend that this interpretation distorts Bonhoeffer's complex theological positions and his resistance to Nazi ideology.
The recent film Bonhoeffer: Pastor. Spy. Assassin. has sparked significant controversy due to its portrayal of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the subsequent appropriation of his legacy. Critics argue that the film contains numerous historical inaccuracies, such as depicting Bonhoeffer leading a jazz band in Harlem nightclubs and being directly involved in assassination plots against Hitler—actions not supported by historical evidence. Moreover, the marketing materials, including a poster showing Bonhoeffer holding a firearm, have been criticized for misrepresenting his pacifist beliefs and complex moral decisions. Scholars and family members have expressed concern that the film distorts Bonhoeffer's life to promote certain political agendas, particularly those aligned with Christian nationalism, potentially inciting political violence.
Yes, Metaxas may be controversial, even off-putting. But the movie is not about Metaxas—it’s about a vision, a mythology, and a deep yearning for figures who can guide us through the darkness. Bonhoeffer is one of those figures. To dismiss the film because of its associations would be to miss an opportunity to engage with the timeless essence of Bonhoeffer’s life and death.
As I’ve dug into this story and my own reflections, I’ve been struck by how storytelling is an act of soul-making. Every detail we include—and every one we leave out—constructs an image that lives in our collective psyche. Bonhoeffer is not just a casualty of the Holocaust; he is a symbol of resistance, sacrifice, and unwavering faith.
And we need him now. We need his story—not just as a historical account but as a myth that reminds us of what we are capable of when faced with injustice. We need his courage, his questions, and his willingness to act when it would have been easier to remain silent.
Let’s approach this story not as a static history but as a living, breathing myth—one that still has the power to change us today.
Because stories, when told well, don’t just recount the past. They call us to live differently in the present. Bonhoeffer deserves that, and so do we.
The Reverend Dr. Kathleen Rose holds a Doctorate in Clinical Pastoral Psychotherapy and a Master of Divinity. Her areas of focus are thanatology and Process Philosophy. Kathleen is an ordained interfaith minister. She currently works as a board certified healthcare chaplain, and as an Eco Chaplain. Kathleen is also student of Japanese Tea Ceremony through the international Chado Urasenke Tankokai associations of the Urasenke School in Kyoto, Japan. Kathleen Reeves is a published poet, and writer. She is a philosopher and a ponderer