Evangelical Theology

An Introduction

Karl Barth

• Publisher: Eerdmans
• Year: 1979
• ISBN:
  9781467421850
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christian Theology

In this concise presentation of evangelical theology -- the theology that first received expression in the New Testament writings and was later rediscovered by the Reformation--Barth discusses the place of theology, theological existence, the threat to theology, and theological work.

1 COMMENTARY

Theology is one among those human undertakings traditionally described as “sciences.” Not only the natural sciences are “sciences.” Humanistic sciences also seek to apprehend a specific object and its environment in the manner directed by the phenomenon itself; they seek to understand it on its own terms and to speak of it along with all the implications of its existence. The word “theology” seems to signify a special science, a very special science, whose task is to apprehend, understand, and speak of “God.”

But many things can be meant by the word “God.” For this reason, there are many kinds of theologies. There is no man who does not have his own god or gods as the object of his highest desire and trust, or as the basis of his deepest loyalty and commitment. There is no one who is not to this extent also a theologian. There is, moreover, no religion, no philosophy, no world view that is not dedicated to some such divinity. Every world view, even that disclosed in the Swiss and American national anthems, presupposes a divinity interpreted in one way or another and worshiped to some degree, whether wholeheartedly or superficially. There is no philosophy that is not to some extent also theology. Not only does this fact apply to philosophers who desire to affirm—or who, at least, are ready to admit—that divinity, in a positive sense, is the essence of truth and power of some kind of highest principle; but the same truth is valid even for thinkers denying such a divinity, for such a denial would in practice merely consist in transferring an identical dignity and function to another object. Such an alternative object might be “nature,” creativity, or an unconscious and amorphous will to life. It might also be “reason,” progress, or even a redeeming nothingness into which man would be destined to disappear. Even such apparently “godless” ideologies are theologies.

The purpose of these remarks is not to introduce the world of these many theologies with their many gods. We will not compare them historically or offer critical conjectures regarding them. No position will be taken on behalf of one against all the others, nor will the others be subordinated and related to this one. There is no apparent reason why these many theologies should have anything essential in common with that which we want to discuss under the title “theology”; nor is it clear how we could fruitfully set them in relation to our task. Among themselves they have one thing in common, something that immediately casts a significant light on the gods to which they are dedicated. Each one of them considers and represents itself as the best theology because, even should it not be the only right one, it claims to be still more right than the others. From the very beginning, as the fable of the three rings suggests, we should beware of participating in this competition. In one of his plays the German poet Lessing compares the claims of the Jewish, Mohammedan, and Christian religions to the claims of three brothers. Each one of them had received a precious ring from the hands of their dying father. Each claimed to have received his father’s one and only precious ring, rather than an exact copy of it. The warning contained in this fable is obvious, even if we do not choose to follow Lessing’s opinion that perhaps the genuine ring was lost and nothing else but imitations were left in the brothers’ hands. The best theology (not to speak of the only right one) of the highest, or even the exclusively true and real, God would have the following distinction: it would prove itself—and in this regard Lessing was altogether right—by the demonstration of the Spirit and of its power. However, if it should hail and proclaim itself as such, it would by this very fact betray that it certainly is not the one true theology.

For this reason we will dispense with any comparison or evaluation that would separate or synthesize various theologies. Instead, let this simple pointer suffice: the theology to be introduced here is evangelical theology. The qualifying attribute “evangelical” recalls both the New Testament and at the same time the Reformation of the sixteenth century. Therefore, it may be taken as a dual affirmation: the theology to be considered here is the one which, nourished by the hidden sources of the documents of Israel’s history, first achieved unambiguous expression in the writings of the New Testament evangelists, apostles, and prophets; it is also, moreover, the theology newly discovered and accepted by the Reformation of the sixteenth century. The expression “evangelical,” however, cannot and should not be intended and understood in a confessional, that is, in a denominational and exclusive, sense. This is forbidden first of all by the elementary fact that “evangelical” refers primarily and decisively to the Bible, which is in some way respected by all confessions. Not all so-called “Protestant” theology is evangelical theology; moreover, there is also evangelical theology in the Roman Catholic and Eastern orthodox worlds, as well as in the many later variations, including deteriorations, of the Reformation departure. What the word “evangelical” will objectively designate is that theology which treats of the God of the Gospel. “Evangelical” signifies the “catholic,” ecumenical (not to say “conciliar”) continuity and unity of this theology. Such theology intends to apprehend, to understand, and to speak of the God of the Gospel, in the midst of the variety of all other theologies and (without any value-judgment being implied) in distinction from them. This is the God who reveals himself in the Gospel, who himself speaks to men and acts among and upon them. Wherever he becomes the object of human science, both its source and its norm, there is evangelical theology.

Let us now attempt to describe evangelical theology. An account of its most important characteristics will serve as a prelude to clarify the uniqueness which it derives from its object. Among these characteristics there is none that, mutatis mutandis, presupposing the requisite changes, could not and would not have to be the characteristic of other sciences as well. Although we will not expand upon this observation here, we will indicate the extent to which these general characteristics are specific characteristics of theological science.

In the first place, it was not Lessing who originally forbade evangelical theology to award itself the prize in comparison with other theologies or, what is more, to pass itself off in any one of its forms as divine wisdom and doctrine. For the very reason that it is devoted to the God who proclaims himself in the Gospel, evangelical theology cannot claim for itself that authority which belongs to him alone. The God of the Gospel is the God who mercifully dedicates and delivers himself to the life of all men—including their theologies. Nevertheless, he transcends not only the undertakings of all other men but also the enterprise of evangelical theologians. He is the God who again and again discloses himself anew and must be discovered anew, the God over whom theology neither has nor receives sovereignty. The separation and distinction of this one true God from all the others can only be continually his own deed. This deed cannot be reduplicated by any human science, not even by a theology which is dedicated explicitly to him alone. Even in this basic consideration he is, without doubt, a God wholly different from other gods. Other gods do not seem to prohibit their theologies from boasting that each one is the most correct or even the only correct theology. On the contrary, such gods even seem to urge their respective theologians to engage in such boasting. Evangelical theology, on the other hand, no doubt can and should base its thought and speech on the decision and deed by which God lets his honor pale all other gods; however, it would definitely not think and speak about such acts if, by this, it wished to win renown for itself according to the example of other theologies. For better or for worse, it must set forth and proceed along its own way, a way which is fundamentally and totally different from that of other theologies. All the same, evangelical theology must not lose patience when it is viewed and understood in the same categories as those others. It must even tolerate being compared and seen in relationship to them under the rubric “philosophy of religion” (though let me warn you that, for its part, it cannot join in this attempt). It can expect justice for itself only by the fact that God justifies it. It can give only him and not itself the glory. Evangelical theology is modest theology, because it is determined to be so by its object, that is, by him who is its subject.

In the second place, there are three subordinate presuppositions with which evangelical theology works. The first is the general event of human existence in its insoluble dialectic, which theology sees confronted by the self-proclamation of God in the Gospel. Secondly, there is the particular faith of those men who not only are allowed but are also ready and willing to acknowledge God’s self-proclamation. They know and confess for all people and specifically for his chosen witnesses that God authenticates himself. Thirdly, there is the general and the particular presupposition of reason, the capacity for perception, judgment, and language common to believers as well as to all men. It is this capacity that makes it technically possible for them to participate actively in the theological pursuit of knowledge, an endeavor directed to the God who proclaims himself in the Gospel. However, this does not mean that theology would be ordered, much less even allowed, to choose for its object and theme—in place of God—human existence or faith or man’s spiritual capacity (even if this should include a special religious capacity, a “religious a priori”). Such topics—if made dominant—would render homage to theology’s unique theme only subsequently and incidentally. They could not avoid also arousing the suspicion that “God” might be, after all, only a mode of speaking, comparable to the symbolic role of the King of England. Theology is well aware that the God of the Gospel has a genuine interest in human existence and, in fact, awakens and calls man to faith in him; it knows that in this way God claims and arouses man’s entire spiritual capacity, more, in fact, than his spiritual capacity. But theology is interested in all this because it is primarily and comprehensively interested in God himself. The dominant presupposition of its thought and speech is God’s own proof of his existence and sovereignty. If theology wished to reverse this relationship, and instead of relating man to God, related God to man, then it would surrender itself to a new Babylonian captivity. It would become the prisoner of some sort of anthropology or ontology that is an underlying interpretation of existence, of faith, or of man’s spiritual capacity. Evangelical theology is neither compelled nor commissioned to embrace such an undertaking. It bides its time and confidently lets things take their course, whatever the way in which existence, faith, the spiritual capacity of man, his selfhood, and self-understanding may present themselves in confrontation with the God of the Gospel who precedes them all. With respect to those subordinate presuppositions, theology is, for all its modesty, in an exemplary way a free science. This means it is a science which joyfully respects the mystery of the freedom of its object and which, in turn, is again and again freed by its object from any dependence on subordinate presuppositions.

In the third place, the object of evangelical theology is God in the history of his deeds. In this history he makes himself known. But in it he also is who he is. In it he has and proves, in a unity which precludes the precedence of one over the other, both his existence and his essence. The God of the Gospel, therefore, is neither a thing, an item, an object like others, nor an idea, a principle, a truth, or a sum of truths. God can be called the truth only when “truth” is understood in the sense of the Greek word aletheia. God’s being, or truth, is the event of his self-disclosure, his radiance as the Lord of all lords, the hallowing of his name, the coming of his kingdom, the fulfillment of his will in all his work. The sum of the truths about God is to be found in a sequence of events, even in all the events of his being glorious in his work. These events, although they are distinct from one another, must not be bracketed and considered in isolation.

Let it be noted that evangelical theology should neither repeat, re-enact, nor anticipate the history in which God is what he is. Theology cannot make out of this history a work of its own to be set in motion by itself. Theology must, of course, give an account of this history by presenting and discussing human perceptions, concepts, and formulations of human language. But it does this appropriately only when it follows the living God in those unfolding historical events in which he is God. Therefore, in its perception, meditation, and discussion, theology must have the character of a living procession. Evangelical theology would forfeit its object, it would belie and negate itself, if it wished to view, to understand, and to describe any one moment of the divine procession in “splendid isolation” from others. Instead, theology must describe the dynamic interrelationships which make this procession comparable to a bird in flight, in contrast to a caged bird. Theology would forfeit its object if it should cease to recount the “mighty works of God,” if it should transfer its interest instead to the examination of a material God or merely godly matters. Regardless of what the gods of other theologies may do, the God of the Gospel rejects any connection with a theology that has become paralyzed and static. Evangelical theology can only exist and remain in vigorous motion when its eyes are fixed on the God of the Gospel. Again and again it must distinguish between what God made happen and will make happen, between the old and the new, without despising the one or fearing the other. It must clearly discern the yesterday, today, and tomorrow of its own presence and action, without losing sight of the unity. It is just from this point of view that evangelical theology is an eminently critical science, for it is continually exposed to judgment and never relieved of the crisis in which it is placed by its object, or, rather to say, by its living subject.

In the fourth place, the God of the Gospel is no lonely God, self-sufficient and self-contained. He is no “absolute” God (in the original sense of absolute, i.e., being detached from everything that is not himself). To be sure, he has no equal beside himself, since an equal would no doubt limit, influence, and determine him. On the other hand, he is not imprisoned by his own majesty, as though he were bound to be no more than the personal (or impersonal) “wholly other.” By definition, the God of Schleiermacher cannot show mercy. The God of the Gospel can and does. Just as his oneness consists in the unity of his life as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, so in relation to the reality distinct from him he is free de jure and de facto to be the God of man. He exists neither next to man nor merely above him, but rather with him, by him and, most important of all, for him. He is man’s God not only as Lord but also as father, brother, friend; and this relationship implies neither a diminution nor in any way a denial, but, instead, a confirmation and display of his divine essence itself. “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and humble spirit, …” (Isaiah 57:15.) This he does in the history of his deeds. A God who confronted man simply as exalted, distant, and strange, that is, a divinity without humanity, could only be the God of a dysangelion, of a “bad news” instead of the “good news.” He would be the God of a scornful, judging, deadly No. Even if he were still able to command the attention of man, he would be a God whom man would have to avoid, from whom he would have to flee if he were able to flee, whom he would rather not know, since he would not in the least be able to satisfy his demands. Such a god might be embodied in deified “progress,” or even more likely by the progressive man.

Many other theologies may be concerned with such exalted, superhuman, and inhuman gods, who can only be the gods of every sort of bad news, or dysangelion. But the God who is the object of evangelical theology is just as lowly as he is exalted. He is exalted precisely in his lowliness. And so his inevitable No is enclosed in his primary Yes to man. In this way, what God wills for man is a helpful, healing, and uplifting work, and what he does with him brings peace and joy. Because of this he is really the God of the euangelion, the Evangel, the Word that is good for man because it is gracious. With its efforts, evangelical theology responds to this gracious Yes, to God’s self-proclamation made in his friendliness toward man. It is concerned with God as the God of man, but just for this reason, also with man as God’s man. In evangelical theology, man is absolutely not, as Nietzsche has put it, “something that must be overcome.” On the contrary, for evangelical theology, man is that creature destined by God to be a conqueror. Strictly speaking, therefore, the word “theology” fails to exhaust the meaning of “evangelical theology,” for one decisive dimension of the object of theology is not expressed clearly by it. This dimension is the free love of God that evokes the response of free love, his grace (charis) that calls for gratitude (eucharistia). “Theoanthropology” would probably express better who and what is at stake here, with the provision that this should never be confused with “anthropotheology.”^• Let us stick, therefore, to “theology,” as long as we do not forget that this theology is “evangelical” in the special sense we have just discussed. Since it is “evangelical,” it can by no means be devoted to an inhuman God, for in that case it would become legalistic theology. Evangelical theology is concerned with Immanuel, God with us! Having this God for its object, it can be nothing else but the most thankful and happy science!

I would like to forgo any special explanation of the word “introduction,” which appears in the title of this work. At the same time, I wish to refrain from any discussion (which would be both polemic and irenic) of the manner in which a similar task has been conceived and carried out by Schleiermacher, as a “S...