The Will to (Christian) Power
Our struggle for control is a struggle to trust
Note: This article is the fourth in a series. It is recommended that you read the articles from the previous three weeks for full context: “The Annihilation of the Nazis”; “Nietzsche, Nazis, and Nihilism”; “Power in Weakness”.
Emanuel Hirsch was destined to be a theologian.
He was born in the territory of Brandenburg in 1888, the son of a Lutheran pastor. His life reads like a who’s who of German-speaking theologians in the twentieth century. As a young man, he made for Friedrich Wilhelm University in Berlin (predecessor of the present Humboldt University), playground of Germany’s intellectual elite, and studied under famed Church historian and dogmatician Adolf von Harnack. One of his good friends there was Paul Tillich. Soon, Hirsch was an expert on Luther and Kierkegaard, becoming a professor of church history in the 1920s and a professor of systematic theology in the 1930s. He would most famously cross paths with Karl Barth when the two were colleagues at the University of Bonn.
Yes, Emanuel Hirsch was destined to be a theologian, but he was also destined to care deeply about the nation of Germany. When he was born, the united German state forged in large part by the titanic personality of Otto von Bismarck was still in its infancy. In comparison to established powers like Britain, France, Austria-Hungary, and Russia, the entire German system seemed fragile - highly susceptible to every economic downturn and wind of ideological change. Bismarck had predicted that the great questions of the day would be decided not by “speeches and majority resolutions” but by “iron and blood.”1
Such was the case: the German Empire’s place among the European colonial powers would be decided by the First World War. The greatest bloodletting in European history to date left Germany at the bottom of the heap, defeated on the battlefield and caught up in revolution at home. The Kaiser (emperor) was forced to abdicate. A new republic was announced. Germany’s national pride was severely wounded, and its finances were in shambles. But perhaps most dangerous of all, the Russian Empire had been seized by Bolshevism, an ideology descended from the writings of German intellectual Karl Marx, a former student at - you guessed it - Friedrich Wilhelm University.
Throughout the 1920s, as Emanuel Hirsch was rising in the ranks of academia and making his mark as a leading theologian, his nation was in chaos. Armed paramilitary groups roamed the streets. Always, the threat of revolution hung in the air. Like many Germans, Hirsch was utterly frightened of the threat posed by Bolshevik ideology. Communists and socialists in Germany were gaining strong support. It seemed entirely possible that the radical Left would seize political power, and the popular assumption was that if that should happen, there would be a bloody purge of whole sectors of society as had occurred in Russia.
Hirsch saw another major problem in the modern world: a spirit of skepticism brought on by intellectuals who had embraced the freedoms of liberalism and cast off every restriction, to the point of utter nihilism. Yes, Hirsch believed that the people of his day who questioned everything and believed in nothing were living a nihilistic existence - a nothingness without foundation. The twin threats of radical Leftism and radical freedom caused Hirsch to fear for the future of the German Volk: the nation in whose unfolding history God was revealing his will.
What Hirsch wanted was a politician who would take the nation’s traditions seriously, promote the cause of ordinary members of the Volk, eschew radical Left ideas, and embrace the principles of Christianity. The exercise of power would be necessary to rescue the nation from the threat of nihilism. Words alone were no longer enough. Finally, in the 1930s, Hirsch found the leader for whom he had longed: Adolf Hitler.
“No other nation in the world has a statesman who is as serious about Christianity as ours,” Hirsch gushed. “When Adolf Hitler concluded his great speech on May 1st with a prayer, the whole world sensed the wonderful sincerity in it. ... We have the current leadership of our people to thank for the fact that the forces of de-Christianization in our people have been broken.”2
Never mind that Hitler had never shown serious signs of being a serious Christian. Never mind that the Nazis were more enamored with Germany’s ancient pagan rituals than its present church liturgy. Never mind that the only one of Martin Luther’s works in which the Nazis showed interest was On the Jews and their Lies. Hirsch was certain that, in Hitler, the German Volk had a true Christian champion who would stamp out the radical Left and return the nation to its Christian roots: family values, a Germany for Germans, a proper respect for authority. A Germany devoted to “blood and soil”3 could only be saved through blood and iron.
That a theologian as brilliant as Hirsch could have found his political savior in Hitler may seem strange to us, but it is characteristic of centuries of Christians who have, in ways great and small, championed the will to (Christian) power.
Neither Emanuel Hirsch nor most Christians throughout history have considered themselves hungry for power. Indeed, many have not sought power for power’s sake. Rather, they have seen power as a means to the end of justice and righteousness: the upholding of biblical principles and defense of the Church’s work.
Certainly, Hirsch’s case is an extreme one. Most of the political leaders championed by Christians throughout history have not literally been Hitler! It would not do to generalize from Hirsch’s failings to those of millions of people. But there are nevertheless some common elements that speak to the general tendency of God’s people to look to earthly authorities and an earthly kingdom rather than to trust in the divine plan.
Why do Christians pursue power? For two general reasons. First, because they feel compelled to create the kingdom of God on earth or something rather like it. Second, because they are afraid of being annihilated.
Creating the Kingdom on Earth
It may seem strange that Christians would feel a need to create a political kingdom on earth when Christ explicitly told Pontius Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world. If My kingdom were of this world, then My servants would be fighting so that I would not be handed over to the Jews; but as it is, My kingdom is not of this realm.” (John 18:36) The disciples asked Christ before his ascension into heaven if he would be restoring the kingdom to Israel then and there. He told them instead that they would receive the Holy Spirit and testify to the nations. (Acts 1:6-8) The earliest Christians made no attempt to gain political power, but focused on evangelization.
Nevertheless, Christians have also felt since the beginning that they ought to be doing good in the world: aiding the poor and infirm, educating children in the truth, etc. They have also reasoned that it would be easier to evangelize a region if the governors allow for such activity. The first Christians may have welcomed martyrdom with open arms and seen it as the highest act of faithfulness, but the Church soon realized the value of having some of their number remain alive to carry on the work.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ’s chief explication of the law of love, many of his followers have found a mission for their lives: to usher in the kingdom here and now. After all, had Christ not repeatedly announced that the kingdom of heaven was at hand? Christians looked to the example of ancient Israel as a nation set apart for God, and they saw a vision of what they ought to be. Some even believed the Christianization of society would usher in Christ’s triumphant return.
This is the kind of thinking that lay behind the creation of Christendom: a network of political and social institutions that reigned over Europe for a millennium, promoting and defending the Christian way of life. Today, some want to see a rebirth of Christendom. But make no mistake: Christendom is not the same thing as Christianity.
Is it not to God himself that we pray “thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven”? His kingdom is not something we can hope to create. It exists in another sphere and will enter this one at a time of God’s choosing. Is it not to him that we declare, “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever”? But how could our power be one and the same with his?
We ought to heed the words of Christ.
“You know that those who are recognized as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them; and their great men exercise authority over them. But it is not this way among you, but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:42-45)
We can never create a perfect kingdom of Christ. Even St. Paul admitted, “I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good.” (Romans 7:21) Always, this is the way. We who still struggle with sin cannot hope to wield power in perfect righteousness. We must remember the warning: “Do not trust in princes, /
In mortal man, in whom there is no salvation.” (Psalm 146:3)
The kingdom of heaven cannot become a thing of earth until he who ascended descends once again.
Fear of Annihilation
Since Christians have a tendency to compare themselves to the ancient Israelite kingdoms (yes, the Israelites couldn’t manage to hold it together in a single entity), let’s take a closer look at the actions of their kings. Nothing scared the Israelites more than being conquered by a foreign power and destroyed as a people, even though God had told them this would only occur if the Israelites deserted God’s law.
On multiple occasions, the Israelites allied themselves with pagan peoples to stave off military disaster. Why did they need to do this when God had promised to protect them? Because, to put it bluntly, they did not believe what God said. Like Abraham traveling to Egypt and lying about his wife’s identity, or like Gideon forcing the Lord to perform feats of wonder with a fleece, the later Israelites found it difficult to believe that, if they simply remained faithful to God’s Word, he would save them. They needed something more tangible - a source of power on earth to protect them.
Like the ancient Israelites before them, Christians have been willing to make unsavory alliances and employ questionable means to achieve the end of security. Here God’s words through the prophet Isaiah seem relevant:
“‘Woe to the rebellious children,’ declares the Lord,
‘Who execute a plan, but not Mine,
And make an alliance, but not of My Spirit,
In order to add sin to sin;
Who proceed down to Egypt
Without consulting Me,
To take refuge in the safety of Pharaoh
And to seek shelter in the shadow of Egypt!’” (Isaiah 30:1-2)
Many Christians throughout the centuries have operated not by biblical principles, but by that maxim of Niccolò Machiavelli: The end justifies the means.4 Others who are more self-aware have realized they could not hope to achieve good through an alliance with evil, and have instead managed to convince themselves that rulers who seem rotten to the core are actually model Christians. (See here Hirsch’s claim that Hitler was, of all leaders in history, most serious about his Christian faith.)
The sad fact is that, at the end of the day, many Christians simply doubt Christ’s promise that the gates of Hades will not prevail against the Church. (Matthew 16:18) They are not content to be still and know that he is God. (Psalm 46:10) They feel that they must be doing something. Surely, everything depends on them! Inaction feels like cowardice, when in fact choosing not to pursue power is the choice of a person who feels utterly assured in the provision of Jesus Christ.
Legitimate fears about Bolshevism led many German Christians to side with the perceived lesser evil of Nazism. But those Christians also realized that if they wanted any influence in society, if they were to hold on to their jobs and their livelihoods, then it would be very helpful to become enthusiastic Nazis. Thus, many of them were able to justify the business to themselves. They didn’t want power, of course, or so they told themselves. They just wanted to save Germany for Christianity.
Once they gained power, it did not take the Nazis long to attempt to change Christianity in Germany. Sensing that certain aspects of Christian belief were utterly at odds with their own program, they set up an institute for dejudification which sought to remove the Old Testament from the Bible, rewrite Jesus of Nazareth’s genealogy, and create a Christianity built on the will to power rather than the dignity of the weak. “Jesus was depicted as a military-like Aryan hero who fought Jews while sounding like a Nazi,” writes Paul Ratner.5
There were some Christians who opposed the Nazi takeover of the German Church. They drafted the Barmen Declaration in which they declared that the Church “trusts and obeys the power of the Word by which God upholds all things.”6 Among their leaders was Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
When Bonhoeffer read the Sermon on the Mount, he saw not a call for building an earthly kingdom of God but something else entirely: a call to discipleship.
“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”7 So wrote Bonhoeffer in his supreme work, Nachfolge. (Literally meaning to “follow after,” but usually titled in English The Cost of Discipleship.) The Christian must not fear to follow Christ even if it means rejection by society, loss of power, and death. Bonhoeffer endorsed St. Paul’s teaching of submission to authority in Romans chapter thirteen.
“The antithesis between the world and the Church must be borne out in the world. That was the purpose of the incarnation. That is why Christ died among his enemies. That is the reason and the only reason why the slave must remain a slave and the Christian remain subject to the powers that be.”8
The Church’s witness was more important than its comfort. Earthly power was a nothingness, but the one who surrendered to the will of Christ would experience the power of God.
Of course, the Christian must not follow authorities into sin. In the final years of his life, as the German military pressed into the furthest reaches of Europe and the Holocaust reached its apex, Bonhoeffer decided it was time for him to stand up to authority. However, he did not do so to protect his own power or comfort: he lost both in the process, suffering execution in the waning days of the war. He opposed the actions of the state in defense of the most vulnerable in society. He could not simply stand by and watch the complete annihilation of the Jews. We can debate whether Bonhoeffer’s actions were all justified from Scripture, but his willingness to bear the cost of discipleship never ceased.
The Sermon on the Mount and the principles of Jesus stand in utter opposition to the Nietzschean will to power that fueled the Nazis. In the end, the Nazis were annihilated and the Church survived. But most German Christians had, in the moment of crisis, found Christ’s teachings to be insufficient in light of their fears. Every generation of Christians is tempted to put their trust in princes rather than Christ.
In a recent interview, Christian author Russell Moore explained why he wrote the book Losing Our Religion: An Altar Call for Evangelical America.
“Well, it was the result of having multiple pastors tell me essentially the same story about quoting the Sermon on the Mount parenthetically in their preaching - turn the other cheek - to have someone come up after and to say, where did you get those liberal talking points? And what was alarming to me is that in most of these scenarios, when the pastor would say, I’m literally quoting Jesus Christ, the response would not be, I apologize. The response would be, yes, but that doesn't work anymore. That’s weak. And when we get to the point where the teachings of Jesus himself are seen as subversive to us, then we’re in a crisis.”9
The will to Christian power is strong and often comes with the best of Christian intentions. Turning the other cheek just doesn’t work anymore, we conclude. Surrendering one’s cloak is a good way to get exploited. The fears of our age cannot be met by a theology of weakness, or so we often tell ourselves. The Sermon on the Mount sounds nice, but to follow it would mean the end of the Church: the annihilation of all we are.
But hear the words of Christ: “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:25)
To lose one’s life for his sake is not nihilism. To show pity and mercy is not self-hatred. Rather, living one’s life in alignment with the teachings of Christ is the true path to life and goodness. We will not be annihilated.
We will be resurrected.
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PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE:
“Erasmus and the Unintended Reformation” at 1517
Excerpt from Bismarck's “Blood and Iron” Speech (1862), trans. Jeremiah Riemer. https://ghdi.ghi-dc.org/sub_document.cfm?document_id=250
Translation provided by Google Translate. https://kidoks.bsz-bw.de/frontdoor/deliver/index/docId/1513/file/Kirchenkampf_Stephan.pdf
The German phrase “Blut und Boden,” meaning ‘blood and soil,’ was popular even before the rise of the Nazis to describe the German nation’s romantic connection to their land. It was tied in with the idea that the peasantry working in the agrarian sector, with their conservative ideals, were a better representation of German-ness than the cosmopolitan elite in the cities. It went on to become a rallying cry of Nazi agrarian policymakers, who sought to alleviate the nation’s food crisis by obtaining Lebensraum (“living space”) on which farming could be expanded.
This is actually a paraphrase of Machiavelli, not a direct quote.
Ratner, Paul. “Nazis created an anti-Semitic Bible and Aryan Jesus,” The Big Think, 3 July 2021. Accessed 1 July 2024. https://bigthink.com/the-past/nazis-anti-semitic-bible-aryan-jesus/
Barmen Declaration, thesis five. https://creedsandconfessions.org/barmen-declaration.html
Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship (New York: Touchstone, 1995), 89.
Bonhoeffer, 265.
https://www.npr.org/2023/08/05/1192374014/russell-moore-on-altar-call-for-evangelical-america
With all due respect (you are an excellent writer), I think this deeply misrepresents the issues at hand. Bonhoeffer was clearly not opposed to power, but the use of power for evil, as you yourself mention. What is participating in an attempted coup d'état against one's own government but a use of political power, rather than its renunciation?
The only people who have consistently held to the renunciation of political power are radical anabaptists. To renounce power is to refuse to vote, sit on juries, run for office, serve in the military, police or civil service, and to refuse all forms of active resistance against anyone. If that is what you are arguing for, grand, it is a reasonable position. Arguably, it was the position of much of the early church. If not, then one has to deal with the difficulties of engaging in actual politics.
My own opinion is that the doctrine of the Two Kingdoms means a separation between our political and personal life. In politics, the common, temporal good is sought. In our personal lives, we pronounce the supremacy of the Spiritual good. The powers that be are not bound by the Golden Rule, which applies to individuals. They are bound by Romans 13 "But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil." The state is not part of the Kingdom of God, and thus is not bound by its laws, but by the laws of nature, discernible by reason. This is why pious and honorable Christian rulers like Alfred the great and John the steadfast were willing to use force against the enemies of the commonwealth. There is no obligation for a Christian magistrate to pay the Danegeld because the gospel says "Turn the other Cheek."
Amy, you have put into writing what I have often thought. Christians are called suffer with Christ (Romans 8:17, I Peter 4:1, 13). The early church writer, Justin Martyr, sums up the attitude Christians should hold toward those powers that threaten them in his First Apology to the Roman Emperor:
'And everywhere we, more readily than all men, endeavour to pay to those appointed by you the taxes both ordinary and extraordinary, as we have been taught by Him; for at that time some came to Him and asked Him, if one ought to pay tribute to Cæsar; and He answered, "Tell Me, whose image does the coin bear?" And they said, "Cæsar's." And again He answered them, "Render therefore to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and to God the things that are God's." Whence to God alone we render worship, but in other things we gladly serve you, acknowledging you as kings and rulers of men, and praying that with your kingly power you be found to possess also sound judgment. But if you pay no regard to our prayers and frank explanations, we shall suffer no loss, since we believe (or rather, indeed, are persuaded) that every man will suffer punishment in eternal fire according to the merit of his deed, and will render account according to the power he has received from God, as Christ intimated when He said, "To whom God has given more, of him shall more be required." Luke 12:48'