Written by Doug Schlegel
As the church doors swung open across Germany to accommodate the throngs of young brown-shirted Nazis, in parish after parish, they outnumbered—and out-voted—the members of the "Young Reformation Movement." When the national synod convened, the Nazi takeover of the established church was complete. The new "German Christian" church leaders, in what became known as the "Brown Synod," passed the Aryan Clause forbidding those of Jewish descent from serving in the church. Church steeples and altars were festooned with Nazi banners, robed clerics apishly saluting a Fuehrer who had publicly called upon Germans to "keep the church the church" and to insure that it did not become a competing authority with the state.
There are times when the current of history is a raging torrent and the strength and violence of that current is fed by headwaters that are distant and sometimes obscure. The history of Protestantism in Germany during the early 20th Century is such a whitewater time. There were many forces, tributaries if you will, that fed this river which found its most dramatic moment with the rise to power of National Socialism. Of course it is well known that the rise of German National Socialism ended with the dramatic waterfall of World War II where the course of the river was decided as National Socialism was dashed against the rocks.
What was the church doing, if anything, as Hitler was consolidating power and the true nature of National Socialism became apparent? Was the church complicit with the rise of Hitler, or was there a stand against the growing evil? There is one event that will serve as an indication of what the church was doing—The Synod of Barmen and the resulting Barmen Confession. As noted above, we have to search for the headwaters. Sometimes the headwaters are personalities, sometimes they are questions, and sometimes they are ideas; usually they are all three. There are at least four sources to the troubled waters of the early 20th century: Luther's doctrine of the "Two Kingdoms"; the consolidation and imposed unity of the German Protestants by royal decree; the effects of World War I and the establishment of the Weimar Republic; and the rise of German nationalism, the concept of the Volk, with the coincident fall in church life and affiliation.
The basic issues of the relationship between the Kingdom of God, the Church, and the World were wrestled with as far back as Augustine, bishop of Hippo in the late 4th and early 5th centuries. But Augustine did not provide the last word, and the Church still wrestled for a millennium until the time of that famous German Augustinian monk, Martin Luther. It is Luther's theological legacy which concerns us here. In particular, the early 20th Century German Protestants had to deal with the implications of Luther's doctrines of the Two Kingdoms and the related doctrine of the Orders of Creation. Rightly or wrongly, Luther's doctrine of the Two Kingdoms had come to be understood by the majority of Lutherans as a prohibition on the Church from "meddling" in the State's affairs because the Church's responsibilities are in the sphere of salvation and are a matter of faith, and the State's responsibilities are in the sphere of justice and law and are a matter of reason. Even today it is a matter of debate if Luther actually taught this, but the reality is that in Germany in the 1920's it was the predominate (or at least the more vocal) view, and one that was expressly embraced by the Nazis to promote church acquiescence in matters of state.
It is easy to see how this understanding would foster passivity in regards to the growing power—and abuse of power—of the State. But this doctrine was also buttressed by the parallel doctrine of the Orders of Creation. The doctrine of the Orders of Creation taught "that Christians, like all other human beings, exist in a framework of universal structures that are prior to and apart from the fact that Christians believe in Christ and belong to his Church. God has placed all human beings in particular structures of existence—such as nationality, race, sexual identity, family, work, government—that in some form or other are simply givens of creaturely existence. The law and commandments of God are revealed through these common created morphological structures of human existence and function apart from and in tension with the special revelation of God in the gospel of Jesus Christ." Followed to their logical conclusions, these theological positions lead to a particular destination as we will see later. These basic theological assumptions were used by theologians such as Paul Althaus to frame an understanding of the relationship between the Church and State.
The second source began in earnest in the early 19th Century. In 1817, Friedrich Wilhelm III sought to unify the fractured German churches by decree into a single, evangelical church and The Evangelical Church of the Old Prussian Union was founded. This forced unity never had the effect desired by Friedrich Wilhelm. Indeed, what ultimately occurred was that the State began to play an even larger role in the life of the Church and for the next few generations, both the leaders of the Church and the members became more and more comfortable with State authority in the Church and expressions of German nationalism. One hundred years later, this close relationship bore its inevitable fruit during the First World War. Thus, the third source is found.
At the outbreak of the War to End All Wars, the German Church leaders and theologians supported the war effort without qualification. Even the weapons and uniforms of the soldiers bore religious slogans. This war (from the German Church perspective) was a holy war. But as the casualties mounted, (two million Germans dead, plus thousands upon thousands wounded and maimed) the German populous began to turn away from the Church. When the navy mutinied and the November Revolution commenced, Germany surrendered and virtually all of the royalty and nobility fled the country. Out of these ruins, the Weimar Republic was born. The vast majority of the church leaders and theologians were not supporters of the new democratic Republic and yearned for the return of the monarchy. This reactionary attitude of the Church further alienated the Church members and the populous as a whole, but as the terms and effect of the treaty of Versailles became clear, the smoldering ember of German nationalism was stoked and the historic close relationship between the Church and the State re-emerged during the ascendancy of Adolf Hitler, National Socialism and the widespread concept of the German Volk.
This fourth source, the rise of National Socialism and the concept of the Volk is the direct context of the Synod of Barmen. It should be noted that this concept of Volk goes far beyond the ordinary translation into the English people or community. It had a deeper, almost mystical quality that reflected the idea of purpose and destiny. So, when Hitler referred to the Volk, he was not merely referring to Germans as a nationality or even an ethnic group, but he reached deeper and spoke to the collective aspirations, pride and to some extent the divinely-ordained purpose of the German people. To the National Socialists, the State was the natural expression of the Volk. This concept was also imbibed by many in the German Church. Many influential Church leaders were not only ill-equipped to face the rising danger of what Hitler represented, many even welcomed it! When viewed in the historical and ecclesiastical context, it is easier to see why so many were deceived into inaction and even cooperation. The Synod of Barmen is an example of a group of church leaders who tried to stand against what they rightly perceived as a growing evil and who attempted to call believers to do the same.
Our Protestant churches have greeted the German turning-point of 1933 as a gift and miracle of God... We accept the turning-point of this year as mercy from God's hand... A state which begins to rule again according to God's law deserves not only applause but also the joyous and active collaboration of the church... The disintegration of the right to punish into social therapy and pedagogy that had already gone a long way, has come to an end; punishment must again be inflicted in earnest retaliation. The new state is again daring to wield the sword of right. It has repudiated the frightful lack of responsibility of the Parliament and showed us again what responsibility means. It has swept out the smut of corruption. It protects against the powers of destruction in literature and the theater. It calls and educates our Volk to a new community will.
With the benefit of hindsight, these words of a notable Christian leader are all the more chilling, especially when we realize that his was one of many voices.
The Nazis were quick to consolidate power not only in the State, but also in the Church. Disunity could not be tolerated in either and the Nazis used the willing collaborators in the Church to impose their will. As the "German Christians" began to impose the racial and Volkish concepts on the entire Church, the beleaguered church leaders who opposed them called together a "free synod" on December 22, 1933, at Barmen for January 3rd and 4th. The call went out to those who still held to the authority of the Scriptures. Three hundred and twenty ministers and elders responded and the first of many free synods was held. It was at this synod that Karl Barth introduced the principles of what would become the classical statement of resistance to Nazi rule and policy in the German church—The Barmen Confession.
It is one of the curiosities of this period of church history that Barth would be one of the "heroes." He, along with other theologians such as the Lutheran Martin Niemöller, who are rightly criticized for their destructive theologies, found themselves in the midst of a life and death struggle for the preservation of the church in Germany. The nature of the struggle brought together Reformed, Lutheran and Union churches and leaders in the common goal of resisting the growing tyranny in both church and state. Over the course of the following months, the various groups began to form into a more cohesive body which was beginning to be called the "Confessing Church." The Confessing Church eventually held another synod at Barmen on May 29-30, 1934, at which a definitive declaration was to be made.
It is a dangerous exercise to learn but one "lesson" from such times, for there is much that we should "never forget." While we cherish the memory of those who stood for the faith against the claims of a messianic state, we must also soberly reflect upon how the church had all but abdicated its moral authority in Germany years before the rise of National Socialism.
Written by Kate Uttinger
Many American denominations were in turmoil during the 1930's as theologians chose sides in the continuing debate over Higher Criticism. In an ongoing effort to reacquaint modern readers with the issues and people that helped to shape the modern American church landscape, we bring you the story of one of that era's most endearing personalities. When reflecting back upon the life and work of Robert Dick Wilson, a colleague remarked that "teachers are legion, great teachers are few." Because he died only a year after helping to found Westminster Seminary in Philadelphia, Wilson is far less well-known than the other men who left Princeton with him over, among others, the issue of biblical infallibility. These included the legendary J. Gresham Machen and the young Christian apologist Cornelius Van Til.
Robert Dick Wilson and the Battle for Princeton
Their father dropped them at the bookstore and told the boys they could buy anything they liked. When he returned several hours later, nine year-old Robert and his brother had over 50 volumes of "light reading," ranging from philosophy to theology to history, stacked up and ready to cart home.1 Robert Dick Wilson's love for languages and books would become more ravenous—and focused—as time went on.
One of ten children, Robert Dick Wilson was born in 1854 to a wealthy merchant in Pennsylvania. Wilson showed a remarkable gift for languages, learning to read at the age of four. By the time Wilson entered college, so strong was his love for languages, he had mastered Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Biblical Aramaic, Arabic, Syrian, and more. When one of his seminary professors asked him how he did it, Wilson replied, "I used my spare time."2
Robert Dick Wilson is most notably known for his brilliant scholarship in biblical linguistics. First at Western, then later at Princeton, and finally in the early days of Westminster, he made it his life's goal to prove through dedicated, careful scholarship, the complete accuracy and trustworthiness of the Scriptures. In his inaugural speech as the professor of Semitic Philology and Old Testament Introduction at Princeton, Wilson set out his vision of a seminary education:
Not forgetting that the primary object of the Theological Seminary is to train men for the Gospel ministry, I should like to see Princeton, and I think that the Church would like to see Princeton, offer to young men of the Presbyterian faith facilities for the acquisition of any branch of knowledge that will help them to discover and defend, in its full meaning, every word of God.3
Discovering and defending every word of God was Wilson's chief aim as a teacher. O.T. Allis, Wilson's contemporary at Princeton and later at Westminster writes,
...despite his rare linguistic talent Dr. Wilson's interest was never exclusively or even primarily linguistic. Languages were to him a means, not an end. They were the means of studying at first hand all those records of the past which could throw any light upon the Old Testament, which he was privileged to teach and to defend.4
Though a brilliant scholar and an able defender of God's word against the attacks of Higher Criticism, Wilson was most at home in the classroom. His rapport with students was both easy-going and "accessible." He was a lively lecturer, sometimes springing up from his seat to "pace up and down, and then leaving the platform, drive home his point by pounding the desks of one and another of the students who caught his eye."5 Wilson would frequently dine with the students, "regale them with his stories," and call them his "boys." He took an abiding interest in the welfare and continued orthodoxy of his students. Once, Wilson stopped in to listen to one of his former "boys" deliver a sermon at the Princeton chapel some twelve years after he'd left Wilson's class. Wilson settled himself in the front of the chapel and listened intently. After the sermon, the then aged Wilson came up to the young man and said, "If you come back again, I will not come to hear you preach. I only come once. I am glad you are a big-godder. When my boys come back, I come to see if they are big-godders or little-godders, and then I know what their ministry will be." The preacher was puzzled. Wilson explained, "Well, some men have a little God and they are always in trouble with him. He can't do any miracles. He can't take care of the inspiration and transmission of the Scripture to us. He doesn't intervene on behalf of his people. They have a little God and I call them little-godders. Then there are those who have a great God. He speaks and it is done. He commands and it stands fast. He knows how to show Himself strong on behalf of them that fear him. You...have a great God."6
Despite his obvious erudition, which can so often intimidate even the most accomplished scholar, Wilson's interest in his students and humility endeared him further to his students. When the occasional student felt compelled to cut class for the day, Allis recounts that Wilson always set before his students a "fine example of fidelity to duty."7 The next day, he would enthusiastically welcome the "returning prodigal" with such sweet cordiality that the young man could not but sheepishly admit that he was missed. Yet on one occasion, Professor Wilson was more than happy to let a hooky-playing student slide.
Mrs. Muriel Jennings was Princeton's first female B.D. graduate. She was allowed to attend classes at Princeton, provided she didn't disturb or distract any of her male classmates. Jennings faithfully attended Wilson's lectures and remarked that he was "much more interested in the mind and in getting students to know the Old Testament than he was in how he was clad." According to Jennings, Wilson would often come to school disheveled and rumpled, with broken suspenders jury-rigged with safety pins to hold up his pants. On one particular morning, Jennings cut class to study in the library. As she passed some of her fellow male classmates later that day in the hall, they broke out into uproarious laughter. Wilson, apparently, had arrived at class that morning looking more "disheveled than usual, and he was late. He put down his notes and his Bible. He asked people to sign an attendance sheet, and he started lecturing. He had a way of wildly gesticulating while he lectured, and suddenly the last safety pin popped out of his suspenders. Down came his trousers to the floor. The poor, embarrassed man picked up his pants and said, 'Where is she? Where is she?' The boys just howled. One of them said, 'Don't worry, Dr. Wilson. She cut class to go to the library.' He put up his hands and said, 'Praise God from whom all blessings flow!'"8
Wilson's philosophy of education, however, was a serious matter. The battle over the accuracy of Scripture was, for Wilson, the "most important theological issue in all of Christian history."9 Higher Criticism had infiltrated so much of American theological academia, and Wilson believed that objective, factual refutations against the claims of the Higher Critics was the most effectual way to combat them. "{quote}The purpose of a critic," said Wilson, "should be to find out what the author said, not what he would like him to have said, nor what he thinks he ought to have said.{quote}"10 For Wilson, a thorough understanding of the text, grammar, and lexicon of the original biblical languages and their cognates was indispensable for anyone who would rightly divide the Word of God. These Wilson sought to give to his students, for he firmly believed that each scholar should take it upon himself to ferret out the truth—and not be spoon-fed from secondary or tertiary sources. He himself recalled the shock he felt the first time he met with a serious error in someone else's—a foremost Semitic linguistic scholar—exegesis. That discovery, he confessed, "revolutionized" his methods for he, since then, never relied wholly on the language "references in commentaries and dictionaries" without first making an investigation himself.11 Wilson felt duty-bound to the Gospel to equip his students with the tools they would need to make such investigations for themselves.
Wilson spent twenty-eight years teaching at Princeton Seminary. He was respected by the faculty and well-loved by his students. But by the spring of 1929, the strife between the liberal and conservative elements of the seminary came to its inevitable head. Four conservative professors—Wilson, O.T. Allis, J. Gresham Machen, and Cornelius Van Til—tendered their resignations and set about to form a distinctly conservative seminary, Westminster.12 Wilson counted the cost of such a drastic move and found the Gospel more worthy than whatever he might have gained or retained by staying at Princeton. Wilson's move from Princeton to Westminster meant leaving his home, his long-time friends, and a handsome retirement package that promised financial stability to the 74 year-old professor. His eulogy, published by Westminster, puts Wilson's move into its proper perspective:
He saw that for him to remain at Princeton would be to commend as trustworthy what he knew to be untrustworthy, that it would be to lead Christ's little ones astray. He knew that a man cannot have God's richest blessing, even in teaching the truth, when the opportunity to teach the truth is gained by compromise of principle. He saw clearly that it was not a time for him to think of his own ease or comfort, but to bear testimony to the Savior who had bought him with His own precious blood.13
Wilson taught only one year at Westminster before he was called home to eternal glory. Wilson's testimony as a "great teacher" was as fresh as ever in the hearts and minds of his students. It was Allis who wrote, "Teachers are legion: great teachers are few. A great teacher must be a man and a lover of men: an ardent lover of knowledge, tireless in seeking it, skill in imparting it: a passionate lover of truth and zealous in proclaiming it. It was because he was all of these that Dr. Wilson endeared himself to so great a number of students and Bible-lovers scattered all over the world...."14 It was Wilson's commitment to the Scriptures, especially in a hostile climate of theological doubt, that made him a great teacher. His legacy, to give students "such an intelligent faith in the Old Testament scriptures that they will never doubt them as long as they live" is an example to all who set about to teach or learn God's word. "Blessed are all those" says Wilson, "who have no doubts."15
Late in his career he was asked by his students to share the most profound truth that his years of study had given him. It is reported that he removed his spectacles and with tears rolling down his cheeks he answered; "Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so."