Transcript
UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: Almighty God, who alone canst order the unruly wills and affections of sinful men, grant unto thy people that they may love the thing which Thou commandest and desire that which Thou dost promise, but so among the sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found.
Through Jesus Christ Our Lord, Amen.
AUDIENCE: Amen.
UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: Dr. Barth's final lecture will be given tomorrow evening here in the chapel at 7:45. It will consist of answers to a series of questions that have been addressed to him by members of the Princeton community during the past days.
Dr. Barth will speak concerning issues raised in the lectures that he has given this week and some of the wider implications of his thought. This particular lecture will probably run a few minutes longer than those that have been given during the other days of the week.
We have all been inspired and thrilled to sit at the feet of a master of theology and the word of God, and it gives me great pleasure to present to you for the fifth lecture on the Warfield Foundation, Professor Karl Barth of Basel.
BARTH: Ladies and gentlemen. We cannot overlook the fact that those were very extraordinary sentences which we [entered?] in our last three lectures on the determination of the place of evangelical
theology. Taken by themselves, of course, they may have been tolerably distinct and understandable, interrelated among themselves, and also confirming one another. Nevertheless, on the whole, [are seen?]
particulars. They were obviously sentences, except they're not supported by what is usually considered sound evidence. They could not be derived from any points outside of that sphere of reality and truth which
they themselves were presented. They had no premises in any results of general science oriented to nature, man, the human spirit, or history, just as they have no background in any philosophical foundations.
Like the Melchizedek, or selector to the Hebrews, each single sentence, and all are sent together where, without father, without mother, without genealogy. Many, nevertheless, ventured these sentences.
To what power did we grant [room?]? What is the power hidden in these sentences? Founding and illuminating them exclusively from within. In other words, how does theology come to take and hold
the place described by them? A place which seems to the onlooker as if situated in midair? Let us recapitulate briefly to pinpoint this situation for ourselves. In our second lecture, "The Word," we ventured
the statement that's the history of Emmanuel, arose from the history of Israel, and the [taint?] it's gone, it's the history of Jesus Christ. And that, this history of such was God's word, spoken to the men of all times and places. What history?
What word? What is the power that makes it so great a history? And so bright a revelation? In our third lecture, "The Witnesses," we ventured the statement that there is a definite group of men, the biblical prophets and apostles,
who directly, immediately heard the word of that history. They were called by it to be its authentic and authoritative witnesses, once again, to the men of all times and places. How were these witnesses,
now especially selected for such hearing? How were these men, no different from others, now chosen for such proclamation? By what possible power? In our fourth lecture, "The Community," we ventured the statement
that a whole group of men also arose a secondary witnesses through the power of the word spoken and entrusted to those first witnesses. A community arose. The church destinate and commissionate for the proclamation of the work and word of God in the world.
What an extraordinary commission for a group of men. What is the power of their existence and action? Obviously, all these sentences were ventured not purely for if any one logical determination of the
place of evangelical theology. As I obviously had, as such, a strictly theological character and content, I could be only theologically guaranteed. Only theologically intended and understood. What is theology?
According to these foregoing statements, by which we describe its place, it can only be theologically defined. Theology is -- theology is science seeking the knowledge of the word of God, spoken in God's work.
Science, learning in the school of holy scripture, witnessing to that work of God. Science, laboring in the quest for truth which is inescapably required of the community that is called by the word of God. In this way alone does
theology fulfill its concept as human logic of the divine logos. In every other respect it is really without support. While seen from the viewpoint of an outsider, it seems to hover in midair. It depends
actually on God's living word, on God's chosen eye witnesses, and on the existence of God's people in the world. This dependence is its foundation, justification, and destination. The power of its existence is a power focused upon in the statements we made on God's word, God's witnesses, and God's people. We will carefully refrain from speaking of a power presupposed.
Years have [passed?] since these theological sentences of those, about the place of theology, or by theology itself in the form of any further theological statement. All would be betrayed. All would be false if we were to speak in this way. Theology cannot
lift itself, as it were, to be -- to -- by its own bootstraps to the level of God. It cannot presuppose anything at all concerning the foundation, authorization, and destination of its statements. It can --
no presuppose -- no help or buttress its statements from the outside, just as little from within its own sphere. If theology wished to provide a presupposition for its statements, this would mean that it'd
want it to secure them, itself, and its own work. It would presume it could, it must, secure them, even if this presupposition were a tour de force, a deus ex machina, introduced in the form of a further theological statement. Precisely
in this way, theology would sell its birthright for a mess of potage. Theology can only do its work. It cannot, however, want to secure its operation. Its work can be well done only
when all presupposition are renounced, which would try to secure it from without or within. What can be arbitrarily presupposed obviously stands at one's disposal. Were theology to presuppose power sustaining
its statements and itself, in the manner that mathematics presupposes the axioms supporting its theorems, then theology would assume power in its own right over that first and fundamental power. Theology could then master that power
for its self-protection, or at least place it on guard duty. The true power which is powerful in its own right defies to be a potency which theology can possess and handle in its statements. Such presumed potency would be something like Munchausen's own
[tresifs?] by which he undertook to pull himself out of the [book?]. In one way or another, the very thing theology seeks, because in fact it needs it, would be lost. Venerable theology attempted to rely upon such an arbitrary presupposition.
We have to speak, therefore, of surreal powers that is hidden in the theological sentences. Hidden. Unattainable. Unavailable. Not only to the environment, but also to the very theology which serves
the community. This is the power present and active in what the sentences of theology say in the history of salvation and revelation, in the hearing and speech of the biblical witnesses, in the being and act of the community summoned
by them, and also in the work of theology when it testifies, to seize things. But this power is also totally superior to theology itself. It sustains and activates that whole event
from the history of Emmanuel down to the little tale in whose telling theology also finally end up as the last, has its existence and activity. In the telling of this tale, that hidden power prevents and forbids
the slightest attempt of building treacherous presupposition. Most of all, it excludes the presumptions that theology can vindicate itself. That power makes all arbitrary presupposing superfluous since it
is a productive power which replaces all safeguards stemming from other authorities. It is power that produces security, of course, but just because it is creative and sufficient power to do so, it is so effective
that even the greatest theological master cannot, as it were, play with it. As though it were one of the most powerful of his chessmen. Perhaps the queen. It is not picked out with a potentiality which the theologian
knows or can exploit as so he could overlook its origins, significance, and limits. The theologian does not have it in his control. This power is by no means a further theological assumption which he, much like a magician, could
employ, or also not employ, according to need or desire which he could manage in one way or another. He should be happy if, while brooding over his task and work, he hears the hidden power rushing, and finds his sentence
determined, ruled, and controlled by it. But he does not know whence it comes or whether it goes. He can only wish to follow its work, not to precede it. While he lets his thought and speech be
controlled by it, he gladly renounces the temptation to accept control of that power. Such is the authority of this power in the event of the history of Emmanuel. Such its sovereignty power, and in the prophets and apostles. Such its sovereignty in the gathering
up, building, and sending of the community. Such is its sovereignty has a hidden power of the theological sentences that describe and explain all this. Sentences such as we venture in those three lectures. No one [or?] that from the viewpoint of an outsider
these sentences seem to hover in midair, supposedly crying for safeguards. Is this true? Only from the viewpoint of an outsider, and do these sentences only apparently hover?
We must think further just at this point if we are to name this sovereign power by its true name. Is the phrase "hovering in midair" supposed to be something that
characterizes theology only in its external aspect? Does it pertain to theology only apparently, and as something probably harmful, from which theology should be acquitted as soon as possible? Still, midair could,
above all, mean flowing, fresh, healthy air, in contrast to all motionless, innocuous, and stagnant, office or bedroom air. And to hover in midair could also
mean to be moved, born, and driven by this flowing air. Who could actually wish what it were other -- that it were otherwise? It should be characteristic for theology to be born and driven by this powerful and stirring air,
not hindered by any safeguards existing ultimately and decisively in this very open air as its habitat. All this should characterize theology, if for no other reason that such free mobility and moment are also the place of the community
of the Church, which lives from God's word. On a higher level, such motion is a place of the witnesses who directly hear and transmit the word of God. And on a still lighter level, it is also the place where the history of Emmanuel, of God's work,
becomes God's word. All this takes place in the realm of that freely mov-- moving air. The gentle or stormy wind, the divine spiratio and inspiratio. According to the Bible, God's spiration and inspiration
are the effective power by which God encloses Himself freely to men making them accessible to himself, and so on their part, free for him. The biblical name of this sovereign, effective power is [ruach or nimar?] and both terms
means specifically [mold?] and moving air. They mean breaths, wind, probably also storm, and in this sense, spirit. In the Latin, spiritus, and also in the French, esprit. This significance is rather clearly
recognizable. In English, the word should certainly not be reproduced by ghost, which is fright -- in frightful proximity to spooks. In German, unfortunately, Geist is a word which makes a dynamic
significance of the biblical term altogether unrecognizable. Our use of the term, however, will be taken from the biblical axiom "Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom," II Corinthians 3:17.
The freedom of which we talk is God's freedom to disclose himself to men. To make men accessible to himself and so to make them, on their part, free for him. The one who does that is the Lord God
who is the spirit. There are, although, other spirits. Those created good by God such as the spirit natural to man. Wherever there are demonic, erring, and disruptive spirits of annihilation, which deserve nothing else but to be driven out, but none of
these are that solemn power. Of none of them, not even of the best among them, can it be said that where they are there is that freedom. They must all be tested for the direction of their current, for their source from above or below.
Above all, however, they must, again and again, be distinguished from the spirit that working in that divine freedom, works human freedom. In the Nicene Creed, the spirit is called the Holy One, the Lord, and Giver of Life,
who proceeds from the Father and from the Son, who together with the Father and the Son is adored and glorified. That is to say he is, himself, God, the same one God who's also the Father and the Son. He acts both as creator and as reconciler, as the Lord of the covenant.
As this very Lord, however, he now dwells, has dwelt, and will dwell in man. He dwells not only among them, but also in them by the enlightening power of his action. He is that
flowing air and moving atmosphere in which men may live, think, and speak wholly and entirely free from presuppositions. They are men who know him and are known by him. Men called by him and obedient to him.
His children, begotten by his word. This was how, according to the second biblical saga of creation, God breathed into men the breath of life, men's own spirit. This is the way the spirit spoke by the prophets. To use another phrase of Nicene Creed, in this way John the Baptist saw the spirit ascend, at the Jordon, on the one who there, in solidarity with all sinners, accepted for himself, the baptism of repentance. In this way, the spirit was the origin of the existence of this son in the world
of men who was conceptos de Spiritu Sancto -- conceived of the Holy Spirit. In this way he was the origin of the apostolate that proclaims this one, and also the origin of his community, the people of God. According to the Book
of Acts, a sound certainly came from heaven, like the rush of a mighty wind, and filled all the houses in which they sat. By this power, the disciples were enabled to speak of the mighty works of God, and were even immediately understood by those stranger -- strangers
who were present from every corner of the globe. This is how they spoke. Even giving the impression of being drunk, and as a result of this spirare and inspirare, the Word was accepted and understood by
3,000 people. The spirit himself was present, God's spirit, the Lord who is the spirit, this was his invasion, incitement, and witness to what is in God and has been given us by God. His power
arousing on beget and begetting the confession. Jesus is Lord. The spirit became a factor whose existence and action made possible and real -- and possible and real up to this very day -- the existence of Christianity in the world. Up to this very day, the spirit
calls into being the existence of every single Christian as a believing, learning, hoping witness to the word of God. The spirit does this certainly and irresistibly, for to wish to stand him when he steps in and acts would be
the one unforgivable sin. But, he alone does this. Whoever does not have the spirit of Christ is not his. Romans 8:9. It is clear that evangelical theology itself can only be pneumatic. Spiritual theology,
only in the realm of the spirit's power, can it become realizable and real as a humble free radical and happy science. That's the God of the Gospel. Only in the courageous confidence that the spirit is the truth does theology simultaneously pause and answer
the question about truth. How does theology become theology? Human logic of the divine logos. The arms race that it does not become this at all, but theology might find that the spirit draws near and comes over it.
And theology may then, without resisting, but also without assuming control over the spirit, simply rejoice and obey the spirit. Unspiritual theology, whether it works its [will?] in the pulpit or at the [restroom?],
on the printed page, or in discussions among old or young theologians, unspiritual theology would be one of the most terrible of all terrible phenomena of this earthly veil. It would be so
bad that it could not be compared with the words of even the worst political editorialist, the most wretched novels or films, or the most awful nocturnal disorder of the teenagers. Theology
becomes unspiritual when it lets itself be [ticed?] or evicted from the freshly flowing air of the spirit of the Lord in which it alone can prosper. The spirit departs when theology enters rooms whose stagnant
air automatically and fundamentally prevents it from being and doing what it could, may, and must be [a do?]. This unfortunate [thinking?] can happen to it in two ways. The first possibility is
that theology, whether it is primitive or exceeding cultivated, whether old fashioned or occasionally new as the fall, will be no doubt practiced more or less seriously, cleverly, and probably also piously, and in the process, will certainly be also
occasionally reminded of the problem of the Holy Spirit. Yet, this theology does not muster courage and assurance to meet itself fearlessly and unreservedly to the illumination, admonition, and consolation of the spirit. It refuses to let itself be led by him into [all truths?]
giving him in its inquiry, thought and teaching, so on, or due to him. The spirit of the father and the son that was certainly put out also for theology's sake over all flesh. Now theology stands in out and out fear of him. There is such a thing as fear of the Holy Spirit. Now it plays dumb. Now it pretends to be [petering font?]. Now it becomes obstinate in open opposition to him. Now it suspects the danger of
fanaticism. As soon as the spirit beings to stir in it, now it rotates in circles of historicism, rationalism, moralism, romanticism, dogmatism, or intellectualism, while roundabout lies green and pleasant pasture. When it poses and answers a question
about truth and sees tracks, theology certainly cannot be serviceable and helpful to the community which, like itself, is totally dependent on the Holy Spirit. It's effect will be just the opposite. If theology is,
as it happens, in the same situation as those disciples of John in Ephesus who reportedly did not even know that there was a Holy Spirit, then theology must inevitably throw the door wide open for every possible
difference [train?] spirit that aims at nothing else but to disturb and destroy the community, the Church itself. An unpleasant reaction cannot and will not be lurking. Human criticism, mockery, and accusation of
theology, to be sure, cannot help it when it is in this plight. But only the Spirit himself, he's the holy one, the Lord, the giver of life, waits and waits to be received. And you, by theology, just as by the community.
He waits to receive from theology its due of adoration and glorification. He expects from theology that it submit itself to the repentance, renewal, and reformation it effects. He waits
to [reify?] and illuminate its sentences that, however right they may be, and bet without the Spirit. The other possibility is that theology may know only too well about the vital power of the Spirit, which is indispensable to Christianity, to every Christian, and to it as well.
Just because of this familiarity, theology may once again not acknowledge vitality and sovereignty of this power, which defies all domestication. In such a case, theology forgets
that the wind blows where it wills. The presence and actions of the spirit are, the grace of God was always free, always superior, always giving himself undeservedly and incalculably, but theology knows the pauses. It can deal with the spirit
as though it had rented him or even attained possession of him. It imagines that he is a power of nature that can be discovered, harnessed, and put to use, like water, fire, electricity, atomic energy. Alike as a foolish church presupposes his presence
and action in its own existence, in its offices and sacraments, ordinations, consecrations, and absolutions. So a foolish theology presupposes him as a premise of its own sentences. He's thought to be one who knows and over whom it disposes.
But a presupposed spirit is certainly not the Holy Spirit, and the theology that presumes to have him under control can only be unspiritual theology. The Holy Spirit is [alight?] with powers that shows and bestows free mercy on theology.
And on the theologians, just as on the community and on every single Christian. Both of these remain utterly in need of him. Only the Holy Spirit himself can help a theology that is or has become
unspiritual. Only he can help it time and again become aware and conscious of the misery of its arbitrary tricks of controlling him. Only where he is [sight?], cried, and prayed for does he
become present and newly active. Veni, Creator Spiritus. Come, oh come, thou spirit of life. Even the best theology cannot be anything more or better than this petition made in the form of resolute
work. Theology can ultimately only take the position of one of those children who have neither bread nor fish, but doubtless a father who has both and will give them his when they
ask him. In its total poverty, evangelical theology is rich, steadily born and upheld by its total lack of crutches. It is rich, born and upheld,
since it lays out on God's promise, clinging without skepticism, yet also without any presumption to the promise according to which, not theology, but the spirit searches
all things, even the deep things of God. So much, ladies and gentlemen, as an introduction to evangelical theology. But one thing
remains to be added. Allow me to say it a little enigmatically and cryptically. It's a word of the famous rebel general Stonewall Jackson.
Spoken at the hour of his death. "Let us cross the river," said he. And nobody knows whether he meant the Potomac or the Jordan. Maybe he meant both of them.
"Let us cross the river and have a rest in the shadow of the trees."
UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: Let us stand for the benediction. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.