Now That the Party's Over:Was Karl Barth that good?Note. The year 1986 was a time for celebrating the life and scholarship of Karl Barth. It was the 100th anniversary of

his birth, a fact noted throughout the year by a number of conferences, services, and published discussions.During his lifetime Barth's contributions were often the occasion for controversy. But the year 1986 was relatively

free from the negative criticisms which his work often evoked in the past. Even in the conservative-evangelical world, where some of Barth's sharpest critics have resided, and presumably still do, public comment during the year of com-memorative activities was almost uniformly appreciative.

THE REFORMED JOURNAL has discovered, however, that this impression of a uniformly jubilant mood is slightly deceptive. Three professors at Fuller Theological Seminary, whose offices are clustered together in a pocket of non- Barthianism on the second floor of Payton Hall, maintained a polite public silence throughout the year, confining their dissenting comments to quiet grumbling in the hallway of their own little ivory tower. Now that the year is over, however, they have decided to speak out. Not that they want to revive the angry evangelical rejection of Barthianism. Their silence during 1986 was a genuinely polite silence. And as they choose now to speak the words that common courtesy did not permit them to utter during the year of celebration, they intend their dissenting comments to be as polite as their earlier silence.

What I Haven't Learned from BarthRichard A. Muller

During the past year numerous celebrations were held, testimonials given, and articles written—all for the sake of celebrating the 100th anniversary of the birth of Karl Barth and recognizing his contribution to theology in the 20th century. I would like to do the same thing, but in somewhat muted tones. While I recognize Barth as one of the most eminent theologians of the age, I hesitate to proclaim him more important than Rudolf Bukin ann or—if the whole sweep of post-Kantian theology is examined—than Friedrich Schleiermacher. And I certainly would refrain from the judgment pressed upon us by some of Barth's more vociferous followers that the great Basel professor is the most seminal thinker since Athanasius. That claim may be acceptable in Edinburgh, within walking distance of the sacred precincts of T. & T. Clark, but from any other perspective either theological or geographical, it is excessive. Quite in contrast to Athanasius and, for that matter, quite in contrast to Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, and Calvin, Barth stands in the company of Origen, John Scotus Erigena, and, I would add, Schleiermacher, as a theologian almost as brilliant as those of the first rank but who, in contrast to those few truly great thinkers, produced an essentially non-normative theology.

Barth did—and I think successfully—direct many theologians of my generation back toward the Scripture and toward the great tradition of the church, specifically toward the tradition of Reformation and post-Reformation Protestant theology. Indeed, most of the useful and

insightful elements of Barth's own thought derive from Reformation and post-Reformation Protestantism. During the formative years of my own theological training, when my professors fed me a rather steady diet of Bultmann, Noth, Schleiermacher, Macquame, Whitehead, and of course Barth, I learned from Barth himself to look elsewhere for the foundations of my theology. Let me comment, then, on what I haven't learned from Karl Barth.

In the first place, I haven't learned how to "do theology" from Karl Barth-—and I would hazard the guess that no one else has either. As I peruse the Church Dogmatics, I have the consistent experience of excessive verbiage and of ideas that refuse to achieve closure. It is interesting and sometimes even instructive to watch a brilliant mind play with concepts and subject them to intense scrutiny from every conceivable angle But Barths dialectical method, which assumes the impossibility of stating divine truth in human words and therefore continually negates and restates its own impossible formulations, could easily and more instructively have simply stated the problem of formulation between two poles of theological statement—and then passed on to another issue, finally providing the reader with a finished dogmatics in no more than three or four volumes, with no loss of content. The Protestant scholastics, whose works Barth read with respect, recognized in formulae remarkable for their clarity and brevity that all human theology must be ectypal, an imperfect, finite statement about God that successfully reflects the divine archetype

only by the grace of God's gift of revelation. Barth taught me where to find that rule for theological formulation, but I cannot say that I learned the rule itself from Barth.

In the second place, I haven't learned how to do exegesis from Karl Barth. The first essay by Barth that I studied was the Epistle to the Romans. I began there, back in my seminary days, because I believed that I had to read Barth, but 1 viewed the Church Dogmatics as a monolith beyond the limits of my library acquisitions budget. I did learn from Barth's Romans that my own inchoate objections to the cold, historical-critical and essentially non-theological content of contemporary exegesis were objections that had some validity. And when Barth's preface pointed me toward the exegetical and hermeneutical approaches of the Reformers, I found a way of access to the theological meaning of the text for the present life of the church. But as I read further in Barth's own commentary, I found that its radically existential approach taught me more about the impact of Kierkegaard than the impact of Paul on Barth's thought. Genuine contact with the text of Romans is minimal in Barth's essay.

Similarly, when I eventually began to work on the Church Dogmatics and to see there the christological principles of Barth's theology brought to bear on various texts of Scripture, 1 was frequently at a loss to see how the text itself pointed in the direction chosen for it by Barth. Barths reading of the story of Judas is a good example. Most commentators see in these texts (Matt. 27:1-10 and Acts 1:16-20) unremitting condemnation: in Acts, the text concludes with a pointed citation of an imprecatory Psalm. Barth, however, m view of his doctrinal assumption that Christ is the only elect and only reprobate man, finds some hope in the fate of Judas. Nor is this moment of exegetical folly an exception: Barth frequently uses his overarching christological principle as a heuristic key to unlocking texts that have, m and of themselves, no clear relation to the person and work of Christ. The result is an incredibly arbitrary and dogmatic exegesis, justified only by the vague contention that it is both "christological" and "theological." I haven't learned how to do exegesis from Karl Barth.

In the third place, and by way of conclusion, I haven't learned from Karl Barth how to appropriate the insights of the Christian tradition for use m the present. The Church Dogmatics is doubtless a gold mine of materials from the history of Christian doctrine—but all too frequently, rather than actually building on the foundation of these gathered materials, Barth uses them as a foil for his own formulations and fails to convey either the meaning or the direction of the materials themselves. As an example of this problem, I would point to what is actually one of Barth's most insightful historical excursuses: the discussion of

predestination (Church Dogmatics U/2, pp. 60-88, 106-115). Barth recognizes, and I believe correctly, that the Reformed orthodox theologians never proposed a predestinarian system in which all doctrine was deduced somehow from the divine decrees. Barth notes, however, that the rather stark presentation of the doctrine of the decrees poses the problem of a Deus nudus absconditus, an utterly absent or hidden God. Barth finds a clue to his solution in the argument of Amandus Polanus that God the Father elects not as Father but as God inasmuch as election is the common work of the Trinity in all three persons: thus God the Son both elects and effects our election. From this clue, Barth moves on to overcome the problem of the Deus nudus absconditus in his own doctrine of "Jesus Christ electing and elected." What Barth does not note is that the concept of the decree as an essential and therefore trinitarian act of the Godhead, together with the definition of election as occurring "in Christ," is typical of Reformed theology in the 16th and 17th centuries. Nowhere in this older theology do we encounter the problem of the Deus nudus absconditus-—certainly not as Barth defines it. Nor, in addition, does Barth's collapsing of election into Christ, so that the electing and elected Mediator is also the only elect and only reprobate man, stand in any real relation to the theological material on which he has commented and from which he takes the clue to his solution to the doctrinal problem that he has posed.

I can only provide a historical hypothesis as to what has actually occurred in Barth's meditation on older Re-formed concepts of election. The problem of the utterly absent or hidden God is not a problem of the older theology but rather a problem caused for Barth by the Kantian background of his own thought: the God who stands behind the phenomenal order as a transcendent and unreachable noumenon is not accessible or know- able unless he can be located in some way in the phenomenal order. Christ provides Barth with this location and, therefore, with his sole focus of knowledge about God and God's acts. Barth's focusing of election on Christ, like Schleiermacher's identification of Jesus as the one man continuously and consistently conscious of his utter dependence on God, deals with the Kantian barrier to a doctrine of divine election—but it does not arise out of a meditation on the Reformed tradition. Rather than let the materials of history speak for themselves, Barth used them as a foil for his own exposition. This pattern of argument can be documented in many other places in the Church Dogmatics—as, for example, in Barth's several excursuses on the Protestant orthodox theological prolegomena in the first two half-volumes of the Dogmatics.

In his method, in his exegesis, and in his use of history Barth consistently fails to point his readers beyond his own individual theological wrestlings. His arguments are

frequently brilliant. They succeed in undercutting many of the cherished notions of the liberal theology out of which Barth himself came. They also remind us strongly of the uniqueness of Christianity in an age when the relativizing approach of the "history-of-religions" school has often threatened to dominate scholarly discussion of theological ideas. The great value of Barth's theology is that it points us toward our own theological roots. The great irony of Barth's theology is that, once it has directed us back toward Scripture and the tradition, it gives us very little help in interpreting them for the present. When I study Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, and Calvin, I am constantly aware that each of these writers was conscious of a duty not only to

meditate on Scripture and tradition but to mediate both Scripture and tradition to their own time and to the next generation of the church. These writers always point beyond their own work to a greater churchly task—and they do so by adopting methods that can be emulated, by proposing exegetical arguments that open Scripture to the present by respecting the text and not bending it to agreement with any overarching heuristic principles, and by dealing with the tradition of earlier theological meditation not as a foil for their own opinions but as a pathway and guide in discerning the meaning of a theological issue. I haven't teamed this approach from Karl Barth—but I will always be grateful to him for pointing me to the place where I could learn it.

A Cheer and a Half for BarthColin Brown

1986 was the year for saying nice things about Karl Barth. But we are now well into 1987, and the problems of the world seem more intractable than ever; the big questions of theology keep being asked. Does Barth help us with them? Does his thinking really make the kind of breakthrough in theology that Einstein's did in physics? Was Barth a modem Athanasius defending the faith almost single-handedly against heretics in the church and the powers of this world? Was he the Calvin, the Aquinas, the Augustine of the 20th century?

These days when I think about Karl Barth I cannot help thinking about Barth's remarks about Kierkegaard. Back in the early 60's Barth wrote a short piece entitled "Kierkegaard and the Theologians." It was later published in Barth's Fragments Crave and Gay. Barth suggested that there were three kinds of theologians. The first were those theologians who may have heard about Kierkegaard and even read something by him, but who never passed through his school. Thus they never learned from him. The second were those who immersed themselves in his writings but never thought about much else. The result was that they failed to graduate from the final year of Kierkegaard's school. The third were those theologians—presumably including Barth himself—who have read Kierkegaard, attended his school, but have passed out of it to learn from other schools. What Barth said about Kierkegaard could equally well be said about Barth himself.

My own acquaintance with Barth—with his thought and writings, that is, for I never met him in person— began in 1958. My first close encounter is vividly impressed on my mind, for it was an encounter which changed the course of my life. In the summer of that year I had got my B.D., and in the fall 1 was ordained to serve in a group of churches

just outside the city of Nottingham in England. Up to that point I had envisaged a lifelong ministry in parish work. At the same time I wanted to be as well-equipped as possible for a teaching, pastoral ministry. In my B.D. I had chosen to take all my electives in Old Testament. I was seeking a firm, biblical foundation for my life and ministry.

It was in this frame of mind that I went for an interview with Alan Richardson, who was at that time the Professor of Christian Theology at the University of Nottingham. Instead of doing the usual post-ordination training, I had the opportunity to do a further degree at the university. I jumped at the chance. As I went to my appointment, I had two subjects in mind. One was a study in the Book of Deuteronomy, which I then thought—as I still do—to be a book of crucial importance for understanding both the Old Testament and the New Testament. The other subject that I had in mind was Karl Barth. I had heard of Barth. He sounded fascinating, but I did not know much about him. In my conversation with Alan Richardson I happened to mention Barth first, and we never got around to talking about Deuteronomy. There and then it was decided that I would do research on Karl Barth's theological method with special reference to his understanding of the Word of God. My career as an Old Testament scholar stopped dead in its tracks. Three years later my thesis was accepted, and I went on to a teaching job and to other things. Later on my work on Barth was published under the title Karl Barth and the Christian Message (1967). By that time I was already deep into study of 19th-century Christology.

Back in the late 50s as I began to read Barth's Church Dogmatics, I had the sensation of walking through an art museum which contained some pieces that looked familiar and others with puzzling and unusual perspectives. It took me the best part of a year to figure out what Barth was

saying. His words sounded orthodox and Reformed, but the way that he put them together was different from anything that I had seen before. Barth had a certain aura about him. Some of his ideas put old questions in a new light. To Barth the Bible was not simply the record of what God had said in the past. God continues to speak through it m the present. Even Barth's description of Scripture as witness to revelation was not intended to downplay its importance. The term itself was biblical (John 5:39). It made sense to see Scripture functioning in a way similar to that of the disciples in Matthew 10:40: "He who receives you receives me, and he who receives me receives him who sent me." In receiving the message of the divinely appointed and inspired witnesses, we may in some sense receive Christ, and in receiving him we receive the Father also.

Barth's presentation of the Trinity was more illu-minating than any account I had previously come across.I liked the way he grounded his understanding of revelation

m the Trinity and regarded the Trinity as the basis of our knowledge of God. Barth's idea of the threefold form of the Word of God in Christ. Scripture, and proclamation opened up new ways of thinking about the incarnation, the Bible, and preaching.

But for all that, there were things that did not seem to add up. Barth's insistence that the Bible was simultaneously the Word of God and the fallible word of man seemed to treat the problem as if it were the solution. I have to admit that I often find Barth's exposition of other people's ideas more illuminating than his presentation of his own ideas. The small-print passages in the Church Dogmatics where Barth reviews the ideas of others are to me much more rewarding than the large- print sections where Barth elaborates his own thought often enigmatically and at inordinate length.

Many things prevented me from becoming a true believer in Barth. Among them was his sparring match with Emil Brunner in the 1930's on the subject of natural theology. Barth is generally thought to have won the argument on points. But in the course of the bout he made a number of spectacular swings which missed wildly. Barth's denial of revelation in nature (which he later backtracked on) in favor of revelation solely through the Word was at variance with what Paul said in Romans and Acts. Barth did not seem to appreciate the truth that the Word that became incarnate in Jesus Christ was the same Word which created the world. Barth seemed so bent on arguing his case that he failed to appreciate what Calvin had so clearly recognized: as creatures we have a sense of God inscribed on our hearts.

The debate with Brunner revealed other disturbing things. Barth had already abolished the distinction between common and saving grace in favor of the one saving grace

of God in Christ. He dismissed the idea of Gods preserving grace in the created order with the words: "Taken by itself it might just as well be our condemnation to a kind of antechamber to hell!" Although it might not have been apparent at the time, Barth's comment anticipated the universalism of his later covenant theology.

The story of the rift between Barth and Brunner is well known. In his later years Barth even appeared on television declaring that no communication was possible between Brunner and himself. They were like an elephant and a whale—two creatures of God that could not communicate. Barth left it to Brunner to decide which he wanted to be. To many outsiders the comparison was amusing but regrettable. It would be nice to think that it was uncharacteristic. Yet Barth frequently gave the impression that he divided people into two groups—- those that were deemed worthy of being admitted into the dialogue and those that were kept at arm's length.

Theology aside, for many people Barth's political stances present a troubling enigma. They can admire Barth's refusal to say "Heil Hitler" before a lecture on theology. They can applaud his stand with the Confessing Church against Nazi totalitarianism. But they are puzzled by his attitudes toward other forms of totalitarianism. As late as 1949 Barth expressed regret over bloodshed under Communism, but professed to see Soviet Marxism as "a constructive idea, the solution of a problem which is a serious and burning problem for us as well " He declared that it would be absurd "to mention a man of the stature of Joseph Stalin in the same breath as such charlatans as Hitler, Hess . . . etc."

In my researches into Barth's theological method I began to see that the issue involved much more than Barth's view of Scripture and its inspiration. From the famous Commentary on Romans onwards there seemed to be some kind of controlling idea at work which affected the way that Barth thought about things. G. C. Berkouwer suggested that the controlling theme of Barth's theology was the triumph of grace. Barth himself welcomed Berkouwer's sympathetic interpretation of this thought, but declared that the idea of the triumph of grace was an abstract idea. Barth insisted that his theology was not based on an abstract idea but on Jesus Christ.

If I were to try to formulate the theme which I see running through Barth's many writings, I would put it like this. All God's dealings with human beings are effected m and through Jesus Christ, in whom God's grace triumphs. Christ is the mediator of revelation no less than of salvation. Indeed, revelation and salvation are really two terms for describing ways of looking at the event of Jesus Christ. The Barth of the 20s and 30s was preoccupied with the question

of the knowledge of God. This knowledge was possible only through Christ. As the great edifice of the Church Dogmatics slowly arose, Barth's attention shifted to the doctrines of God, creation, and reconciliation. Here again the teaching was given a christological interpretation.

The older covenant theology of Reformed orthodoxy was replaced by a covenant theology in which Jesus Christ himself was seen as the covenant on which both creation and redemption were based. The union of the divine and human natures of Christ in his one person became the basis of the union of God and humankind generally. God had taken humankind into partnership with himself on the basis of this union. He had created the world with this union in mind- The Calvinis t ic doc trine of double predestination received a christological reinterpretation. Jesus Christ was the elect for ail and the reprobate for all. All human beings had been reconciled in him. The basic difference between the be liever and the unbeliever lay in the fact that the believer knew of this reconciliation and responded accordingly in faith and obedience. The unbeliever, on the other hand, was still trying to live the life of the unreconciled despite the reconciliation that had become a reality in Christ.

Barth's view was not entirely new. Some of his key ideas had been anticipated in the 19th century by the Anglican Christian Socialist Frederick Denison Maurice. Admittedly Maurice had not worked them out with the same dogmatic precision as did Barth. Nor does Barth seem to have drawn on Maurice for his inspiration, for his writings never refer to Maurice. But like Maurice, Barth believed in the priority of Christ over Adam, that sin was a reaction to grace, and that all human beings were in Christ already. Like Maurice, Barth was pushed to the brink of universalism. When questioned on this, Barth denied that he was a universalist of the same kind as Origen. This reply left unanswered the question of what kind of universalist Barth actually was.

Barth never got around to giving a full answer to the question, for the Church Dogmatics never got beyond the fourth volume. The fifth volume, which would have dealt with eschatology, remained unwritten. Barth fondly compared his magnum opus with the cathedral at Stras-bourg, which was never finished. On the question of universalism Barth played down the passages in the New Testament which spoke of judgment. He claimed that there was no such thing as a rejected individual, however much such a person might have rejected God's love in Christ. Such persons were not really rejected. They were trying to live the life of the rejected.

These days Barth's theology does not preoccupy my thoughts. It stopped doing so a long time ago. However, I

have never regretted the time I have spent reading Barth. He has been a major stimulus to my thinking. But just as Barth felt obliged to move from Kierkegaard's school to other schools, so today we must move on from Barth as we wrestle with the problems of the world and the questions of theology. To have a Christ-centered theology sounds a fine thing. But the question that we have to ask is whether Barth's Christ is the same as the Christ of the Bible. No one put the answer to that question more aptly than Brunner when he said that Barth's view of salvation was a "speculation." In the last analysis it was "Natural Theology on the basis of a statement which has a Biblical core."

I still think that Barth can be read with profit—if only as a stimulus to think other thoughts. I can even stand among those who are cheering. But I cannot bring myself to cheer quite so long and so loud as the rest.

Why I Went to the Party at AllRichard J. Mouw

Well, the Barthian party is over. Of course, the Barthian project goes on—theologians will continue to write about Barth and even to write like Barth. And we can expect other scholars besides theologians to take a new look at his writings. In recent years people have begun to pay closer attention to what Barth said about politics and economics and male-female relations and vegetarianism and music and poetry. That kind of discussion will certainly go on, and will probably broaden in scope.

And it ought to. Barth was an important thinker who occupies a significant place in 20th-century intellectual developments. No sensible scholar can be opposed to a serious study of his life and work.

Nor can we oppose parties held in his honor. I don't. In fact, 1 attended a major Barthian gala held at Fuller Seminary last May—lectures, symposia, receptions, even a banquet. To be sure, I did not go into the thing with quite the jubilation that many other celebrants did; but that is neither here nor there. I often set out for parties with a grudging reluctance I have to work a bit at disguising.

At a number of points, though, the party itself added to my problem. People were often unstinting in their praise for Barth's work. And that made me uncomfortable at times, especially since the celebrations that I happened to witness—both as flesh-and-blood gatherings and on the printed page—took place primarily in conservative-evangelical environs.

There is, to be sure, some justice in this fact. Con-servative Protestants have sinned much against Barth, and there is something to be said for overdoing it a bit in the opposite direction. I am one of those who in my own small way once sinned against Karl Barth. Early on in my own studies, I embraced the notion that Barth was nothing but an old ‘'modernist" in a new disguise.

I came to that view by reading some books and articles about Barth. I gave up that view when I read some books and articles by Barth.

Having come to the conclusion, then, that Barth was not as bad as I had been led to believe, I read G. C. Berkouwer's critically appreciative study, The Triumph of Grace in the Theology of Karl Barth. That book helped to shape my enduring assessment of the value of Barth's contribution. Berkouwer convinced me that Barth's the-ology was—contrary to my previous impression—a positive

contribution to the theological discussion. I am grateful that Berkouwer helped me to leave behind the all-too-typical pattern in my evangelical youth of bearing false witness against Karl Barth. And I am happy that institutions like Fuller Seminary and The Reformed Journal and the Eerdmans company are leading the way in reinforcing the appropriate correctives today.

But I must confess that I worry a bit about a rather different sort of false witness among evangelicals these days. The present danger seems to be an inflated set of claims about Barth's real or potential contribution to evangelical thought. So now that the celebration is over, I want to offer a candid comment about the positive contribution Barth has made to my own thinking.

Frankly, there isn't much to talk about here. And that is what I feel compelled to say, having witnessed the partying of last year. 1 really haven't found Barth to be very helpful in shaping my own theological views. And I'm a bit skeptical when other evangelicals speak m glowing terms about what he has meant in their development.

Two clarifications are necessary, though, if f am to make my meaning clear. First, when I go to Barth looking for help, I do so as someone whose work is in the areas of philosophy and ethics. These aren't exactly the areas of Barth's strength, on any accounting of the situation. To ask him for help in the task of Christian philosophical formulation is a bit like asking a kosher butcher for pork recipes. That seems obvious. Barth's weakness as an ethicist is, I know, a point I will have to argue against some fairly well-known theological ethicists. But I do find such insights that Barth has to offer in this area rather spotty and unsystematically presented.

Second, I do not mean to suggest that Barth doesn't make true and innovative proposals for theological con-sideration. But I am inclined to think that his truths have to be distinguished from his innovations.

Let me explain. The things I can get excited about in Barth are items that function for me as reminders of what has been said before. I think Barth says many "od Reformed things. But most of these things I also d in previous Reformed thinkers, such as Calvin and Bavinck. Where Barth differs from those Reformed giants, I tend to disagree with him and side with the earlier thinkers.

In short, what I learned from Berkouwer is that many

of the good things Barth says are reaffirmations of important emphases already in the Reformed tradition. To the degree that this is the case, I have learned to celebrate his work. But where Barth departs from the formulations of a Calvin or a Bavinck, I find him less than convincing. And not because I buy the view that earlier must always be better than later. I just don't find Barth convincing or helpful when he sets out to improve on past formulations regarding, say,

the doctrine of Scripture or the nature of election or the proper pattern for understanding the person and work of Jesus Christ.

That is my dissenting word about Barth. It doesn't mean that I will refuse ever to attend another party in his honor. But it does mean that I wouldn't want to go under false pretenses.