By Victor V. Motti*
There is something philosophically arresting about the German word Wiederkunft. At first glance it seems simple: wieder means “again,” and -kunft derives from kommen, “to come.” Literally, it means “again-coming.” Not repetition in general, not mere return as reversal, but the event of a coming that happens once more. The emphasis is not on circling backward, but on presence reappearing.
The structure of the word reveals a quiet metaphysics. German forms a family of temporal and existential concepts from kommen. Zukunft—the future—is “that which is coming toward us.” Herkunft—origin—is “that from which one has come.” Ankunft—arrival—is the act of coming into presence. Time itself becomes articulated through movements of coming and arrival. Within this family, Wiederkunft stands apart. It does not describe a simple return (Rückkehr would suffice for that). It carries weight. It suggests something long absent, something decisive, something whose coming again alters the structure of expectation.
In Christian theology, Wiederkunft names the Second Coming—die Wiederkunft Christi—the promised return of Jesus Christ. Here the word does not imply cyclical recurrence, but fulfillment. The first coming inaugurates history; the second consummates it. The repetition is not redundancy. It is culmination. What comes again does so not as repetition but as revelation.
And yet the same word, when paired with ewige (“eternal”), takes on a radically different philosophical resonance in the thought of Friedrich Nietzsche. His concept of Ewige Wiederkunft—eternal recurrence—pushes the term toward something far more vertiginous. Here, the “again-coming” is not a single decisive return but the infinite recurrence of all events, exactly as they have occurred. The future becomes a mirror of the past, endlessly. In this sense, the word almost does approach the idea of a “repeated future.” Not because the word itself means that, but because the philosophical horizon into which Nietzsche places it transforms coming into cosmic reiteration.
But even here, the nuance matters. Wiederkunft is not about abstract repetition; it is about presence arriving again. It retains the drama of appearance. The eternal recurrence is not merely a theory about time—it is an existential test. If everything comes again, if this moment will return infinitely, then the question is not cosmological but ethical: can you affirm your life so completely that you would will its again-coming?
What is striking is that ordinary German rarely uses Wiederkunft for everyday returns. One would normally say Rückkehr for a friend coming home or a traveler returning. Wiederkunft sounds elevated, almost eschatological. It implies significance. Something that comes again under this name does not simply resume; it reenters the stage of meaning.
This linguistic distinction hints at a deeper intuition. A return can be mechanical. An “again-coming” suggests destiny. It suggests that presence itself is structured by anticipation and reappearance. Time is not only linear progression nor mere circularity, but a rhythm of absence and arrival.
Thus, the word Wiederkunft quietly bridges theology and philosophy, eschatology and existentialism. It carries within it both hope and dread: the hope of fulfillment and the dread of repetition. It names not simply a repeated future, but the event of something decisive coming again into the field of being.
In the end, the word reminds us that time is experienced not as abstraction but as arrival. The future is what comes. The origin is what has come. And sometimes—perhaps most profoundly—meaning itself is what comes again.
* Victor V. Motti is the author of Planetary Foresight and Ethics