The following lecture was recorded during Providence’s 2017 Christianity and National Security Conference. Joseph Hartman, who wrote his dissertation on Reinhold Niebuhr, talks about Niebuhr’s influence as a public intellectual and outlines his views of anthropology, political theory, and the practicalities of politics. He also discusses what Niebuhr’s significance is for us today.
Mark Tooley: Our next speaker as we proceed on our crisp schedule of the conference is Joe Hartman, who teaches constitutional law here at Georgetown University and also is a scholar of Reinhold Niebuhr, about whom he’ll be speaking to us today. Niebuhr was a definitive figure in how Christians in America have understood power and authority, especially issues of war and peace. Joe is also an attorney and very active in the Anglican Church in Northern Virginia. So Joe, if you would come forward, we appreciate your being here.
What was that line, “the dogma lives loudly within”? Is that right? Every time I hear that, I think it’s something Yoda would say to Luke Skywalker. It’s just a weird phrasing. Well, as Mark said, I’m going to talk today about Reinhold Niebuhr. I was thinking, as I was preparing for this, he was the subject of my dissertation, and I almost feel like when I do these talks, there’s pre-Trump and post-Trump, so this is sort of pre-Trump but maybe not. We’ll see.
Niebuhr became really influential, I would say, from about the middle of the last decade through the end of the Obama years. I’ll make a case that he’s still very important, but we’ll see how this goes. Reinhold Niebuhr, if you don’t know, if you just kind of hear the name, probably one of the more influential public intellectuals of the last century. His career stretched from World War One all the way through to Vietnam, and it’s hard to pin him down.
He preached sermons, he wrote newspaper articles, he wrote long scholarly treatises, most famous of which are his Gifford lectures delivered in Scotland in 1939, right as World War II is starting. Perhaps most famously, he’s credited with writing the serenity prayer, if you know that, which gained national fame when it was selected for inclusion in a prayer book given to service members in World War II, and probably became more famous because of Alcoholics Anonymous, who used it.
I’ll give you a quick biographical sketch, and then I want to get to more substantive issues. He was born in the late 19th century; his parents were German immigrants, his father was a German pastor. German was his first language. After studying at Eden Theological Seminary, he went to Yale Divinity School, where he earned his master’s. He spent about ten years at a church in Detroit between 1915 and about 1928. That church grew from about 60 to 700, so even early on as a pastor, he was gaining notice.
The meat of his career was spent from 1928 to 1960 at Union Theological Seminary, where he taught philosophy of religion and applied Christianity. By the mid-40s, this is astonishing, and I don’t have a graphic, but he was on the cover of Time magazine’s 25th-anniversary edition. Imagine a theologian, not a pastor-pop, but a theologian on the cover of Time magazine. Hans Morgenthau, a political realist of the 20th century, called him the greatest living political philosopher in America in 1962, and when he died in 1971, Time eulogized him as the greatest Protestant theologian in America since Jonathan Edwards.
More recently, around 2000, Modern Library ranked The Nature and Destiny of Man as the 18th most important non-fiction work of the 20th century, which is surprising when you think that’s ahead of A Theory of Justice, Rawls’s book, Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, all given a backseat to this book. Significant perception there.
A little about his renaissance—he died in 1971 and disappeared for a while. Several of his books were reissued, articles were written. Probably the most famous example is an interview Barack Obama gave in 2007 to David Brooks. Now, query whether he was just trying to get David Brooks to write nice things about him, but he said Niebuhr was one of his favorite philosophers. If you know anything about Brooks, he’ll from time to time see Brooks mention Niebuhr.
One more—within the last three or four months, PBS premiered an hour-long documentary on Niebuhr. If you have a chance, it’s worth looking at. It’s called An American Conscience: The Reinhold Niebuhr Story. That’s the background. What I want to do for the rest of the time is talk a little about why I think he’s significant now. I’m going to work outward. I’ll start with his account of what he called human nature.
I realize that term itself, at least in the academic world, is fraught at this point, but we’re going to use it. Start with anthropology, human beings, then work out to his political theory, and then work out to his assessment of politics, the practicalities of politics. Starting individual, working out to philosophy, then to more practical concerns.
Another thing about Niebuhr is he tends to be claimed by both sides, which can be a good or bad thing. You get people as disparate as Michael Novak and Cornel West calling themselves Niebuhrians. Put those two together. He gets claimed, particularly during the Iraq War. He was claimed for both sides. People who thought we should be involved in Iraq and all that was going on there said, “Well, this is something Niebuhr would do,” and there were people arguing, “No, this is completely against what Niebuhr would be. He would be non-interventionist.”
Part of that has to do with the fact that he had a long career. He moved. Early in his career, he ran for mayor of New York as a socialist. By the ’40s, he was a very dogged anti-communist Cold War liberal. There was some movement there. Also, because he wrote so much on current issues, sometimes people try to extrapolate things from a kind of issue position, rather than a more substantive understanding of what his project actually was.
Just to throw one more complication, Niebuhr himself once commented, “Our problem, both in foreign policy and in other affairs, is how to generate the wisdom of true conservatism without losing the humane virtues which the liberal movement developed.” Even he throws some ambiguity into that. In all the ways people try to use Niebuhr, I think Paul Elie had an essay called “A Man for All Reasons”—sort of anybody can claim him.
My argument and what drew me to Niebuhr is that you’ve got to look deeper. If you’re looking for a political conservative or a political liberal, you’re not looking where you should be, because Niebuhr’s real significance is that he’s someone steeped in the theological and philosophical traditions of the West. He offers a compelling and penetrating assessment of our predicament, our self-understanding in the modern world.
He looked at philosophy. Whether it’s Enlightenment philosophy, pure rationalism, or theological perspectives, he was convinced that if you really want to understand a philosophy, you had to look past its claims on rationality, its claims on science, for example, and look at what it says about the meaning of life and about human beings. For him, you had to look at what a philosophy understood about the fate, about the tragic, about human nature in a more abstract way.
A philosophical way to put this is to say, for Niebuhr, ontology and epistemology rest on anthropology. Anthropology, to allude to the earlier talk, is theological. We understand it theologically. For Niebuhr, all the philosophical systems that wage war with one another ultimately have their own kind of faith, their own kind… this is sort of like presuppositionalism a little bit, regarding the meaning of life and the nature of man.
So, for Niebuhr, if we wanted to understand surface political problems, religious complications, or philosophical problems, we first had to look at what the people making those arguments were saying about human beings. Are they right or not? He said we had to look at what he called the obvious facts of history. For him, those facts were what Hegel termed “history as slaughterbench,” a tragic understanding of history.
Anthropology. I’m moving to philosophy, then politics. Niebuhr famously began The Nature and Destiny of Man Volume One, Human Nature , his masterwork, his Gifford lectures, with the statement: “Man has always been his most vexing problem.” Not politics, not culture, not philosophy, not religion, but human nature. He contends the whole history of modern thought, which for him basically goes back to the Reformation and the Renaissance—everything after that is the modern world he’s talking about—is a mishap: humans misapprehending themselves. Hence, the caption above his picture: “Man’s story is not a success story.”
He attributed much of the political chaos he saw—and remember, as crazy as things seem domestically and internationally now, he was looking at total world war—to misplaced optimism in human reason and human virtue: our intellectual capacity, moral capacity. He thought we were naive about these things.
He traces this—longer conversation I can discuss in the Q&A or you can read his argument—to his perception that the modern world, as described, over five hundred years, draws on strands of classical philosophy and Christianity in ways that aren’t coherent, so they become confused and intermingled. Niebuhr says that, against the evidence, despite what we see around us, we still think our rationality is capable not merely of ameliorating problems, but of solving them.
Consider how we propose solving problems. One way: education, because it’s an intellectual problem, a problem of knowledge—solve it by improving education. Not entirely wrong, but that’s one trajectory. Another: history has left us injustices and problematic social systems. Also true. Solve those by reforming and improving social conditions. Niebuhr wouldn’t oppose these efforts but would say our naivety is thinking we can finally solve these problems.
The prior speaker discussed the idea that government could be ultimate, not penultimate—that we can finally achieve these things, rather than making them somewhat better. Another quote from Niebuhr: “The hope that everything recalcitrant in human behavior may be brought under the subjection of the inclusive purpose, and this purpose is of mind by the same technology which gained man mastery over nature, is not merely an incidental illusion prompted by the phenomenal achievement of the natural sciences but it is the culminating error in modern man’s misunderstanding of himself. The principle of comprehension by which modern culture seeks to understand our present failure belongs to the misunderstanding about man’s life in history which contributed to that failure. The spiritual confusions arising from this misunderstanding constitute the cultural crisis of our age beyond and above the political crisis in which our civilization is involved.”
Niebuhr argues that despite technological advances, we misunderstand ourselves and therefore misunderstand how to address the problems we face. Famously, for Niebuhr, part of his argument was that we needed to recover an understanding of the Christian idea of sin as an antidote to naive confidence in human beings’ essential goodness.
He started as a social gospeler but broke with the social gospel movement, saying, “This is naive optimism about human nature, and the reality is we’re not what you’re saying we are.” Niebuhr pointed both to biblical revelation and to empirical evidence: “Look around you.” He famously said, paraphrased, the one empirically verifiable doctrine of the Christian faith is original sin. Read the newspaper.
By sin, he’s not—it’s a problematic term for various reasons we can discuss in the Q&A, and people misunderstand what Christians mean by sin. Niebuhr refers to fundamental brokenness, a bent away from good—pridefulness, failure, self-importance, partiality, moral corruption. He argued that if we can recover this conceptually, we can avoid misplaced optimism, which results in brutal government when optimism fails. Instead, we act more realistically, making him a political realist.
Moving from anthropology, Niebuhr emphasizes understanding human nature’s brokenness. This leads to his political philosophy, which defends democracy. He rethinks democratic political theory.
Typically, we think of figures like Jefferson, inspired by French philosophers, with an idealistic view of democracy as a means of liberating humanity and celebrating its nobility. Niebuhr rejected this. His famous line: “Man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible, but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.” Because humans possess goodness—imago Dei, created in the image of God—democratic politics is possible. Because we’re corrupt, we need it.
Niebuhr’s defense of democracy rejects authoritarianism. Like the founders, he argued against consolidating power in a fallen person. His defense of democracy is grounded in human nature’s ambiguity, a theological account, not a myth of progress or perfectibility, not idealism.
Niebuhr: “The same radical freedom which makes man creative also makes him potentially destructive and dangerous. The dignity of man and the misery of man, therefore, have the same root. This insight justifies the institutions of democracy more surely than any sentimentality about man, whether liberal or radical.” Democracy offers a means to exercise divine freedom and preserve political order.
So, you’re simultaneously grounding your politics or political theory in the strength and weakness of human beings. That was quick, but you’ve got human nature: man is divided and broken. Politics: we need democracy. This is the way to work out that problem, that question. What does it actually look like in practice? Maybe this is where the title Mark gave me comes in: Niebuhr for today. Again, we’re post-Trump, so we can talk about how this fits, but I think it does.
I’m going to talk about humility in The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness. I was waiting for that—really, the New York Times, come on, humility. You used to have that. Niebuhr says, “Democracy, therefore, requires something more than a religious devotion to moral ideals.” In other words, idealism. “It requires religious humility.” I’m going to echo the last speaker again: every absolute devotion to relative political ends—and all political ends are relative—is a threat to communal peace. But religious humility is no simple moral or political achievement.
It springs only from the depth of a religion which confronts the individual with a more ultimate majesty and purity than all human majesties and values and persuades him to confess, “Why callest thou me good? There is none good but one, that is God.” For Niebuhr, he’s saying, and I think it’s very much what the last speaker was saying, if you understand the penultimacy of your political ends—not that you don’t pursue them—but if you recognize that, there’s a certain humility and grace that comes with political action. This can be lacking if your politics is ultimate, because if your politics is ultimate, your opponent is your enemy and indeed is the enemy of all that is good and just.
If your politics is penultimate, not necessarily so. That ties, and I’m speeding through this because I want to leave time for questions, to Niebuhr’s account of tolerance. The failure to recognize—and he’s talking here about these idealists again—the corruption which inserts itself into the statement of moral law by even the most disinterested idealists leads to the naive and politically dangerous conviction that their own ideals are perfect.
In other words, you’ll have people running around trying to tell everyone else how to live all the time. But if we’re aware of our own fallenness, we can act politically. Absent this humility, your political opponents become your political enemies, as I said, and the temptation to leverage the full powers of the state upon recalcitrant elements becomes too strong to resist. A couple of comments in closing, then I want to open up to questions. So you get this idea of humility, this idea of tolerance or grace—another way to put it in political life. The other two pieces are forgiveness and hope.
Niebuhr argues that man does not know himself truly except as he knows himself confronted by God. In this sense, that’s why I say the anthropology is itself theological. You start with this confrontation. Calvin, beginning his Institutes, has the same idea: knowledge of man, knowledge of God. That’s how you find out who you are—in this confrontation with God, we become fully cognizant of our sin.
If we’re sinners, the obvious consequence is not only that we will sin, but even when we’re well-intentioned, we may harm the interests and offend the rights of others. Given the technological scope and scale of our society today, given the problems we face, this becomes magnified because our ability to have destructive consequences as a result of our good intentions is much greater. Niebuhr argues in that context that if mistakes are going to happen—and they will be well-intentioned mistakes—then forgiveness is even more critical.
Forgiveness is the only proper response. Again, from Niebuhr: “To the contrite recognition that our actions and attitudes are inevitably interpreted in a different light by our friends as well as our foes than we interpret them. It’s the final oil of harmony in all human relations in a broken world.”
Niebuhr highlights the truth that collective human life is invariably tainted by the sin of pride. He acknowledges the pervasive nature of injuries and injustices across different groups, a pertinent issue in contemporary politics. Niebuhr suggests that some harms caused cannot be remedied solely through retributive justice.
He delves into the concepts of forgiveness, faith, hope, and action, emphasizing the Christian faith’s hope in divine power to complete what human efforts cannot. Niebuhr argues that recognizing God’s sovereignty liberates individuals from bearing the full burden of responsibility, fostering humility and forgiveness.
He quotes Niebuhr on life’s lack of simple congruities in history, pointing out that scientific advancements and social triumphs over historic injustices cannot eliminate life’s inherent incongruities. Niebuhr contends that achieving serenity amidst these incongruities, rather than annulment, is the ultimate wisdom of life.
Niebuhr stresses the indispensability of hope, faith, and love in human endeavors, noting that no virtuous act stands unchallenged from different perspectives. He concludes by urging listeners to embrace forgiveness as the ultimate form of love, essential for navigating the complexities of human existence.
In discussing Christian ethics amidst human fallenness, Niebuhr navigates the tension between the command to love one’s neighbor and the moral responsibility to act against injustice. He posits that while striving to approximate the law of love, humanity inevitably falls short, recognizing the complexity and ambiguity inherent in moral decision-making.
Niebuhr’s approach is characterized by a refusal to prescribe a rigid ethical system, instead advocating for a nuanced understanding of human limitations and the imperfection of all human actions. He encourages individuals to act responsibly while recognizing their inevitable imperfections and the need for forgiveness.
Regarding the widespread removal of Christian symbols from public spaces, Niebuhr would likely critique this as emblematic of broader societal conflicts over culture and religious authority. He might argue that such disputes reflect deeper struggles over identity and values, underscoring the loss of grace and humility in public discourse.
Niebuhr would caution against facile claims of being on the “right side of history,” emphasizing the Christian understanding of historical ambiguity and the ultimate justice enacted by God. He would likely view attempts to align with historical progress as simplistic and potentially divisive, calling instead for humility and a recognition of humanity’s collective sinfulness.
In response to questions about Niebuhr’s relevance today, the lecturer critiques attempts to reduce Niebuhr’s thought to mere relativism or historical irony. Instead, he emphasizes Niebuhr’s synthesis of Christian theology and modern thought, advocating for serious engagement with both traditions.
The lecturer agrees with the audience member’s characterization of Niebuhr as blending Augustine’s insights on sin with a modern critique of human agency. He clarifies that Niebuhr’s approach critiques perfectionist ideals of action and agency, such as the morally untainted action. For example, when people argue, “Why do you give money to something? It was totally selfless—no, but you got a tax break,” or “Oh, I felt good,” is there any such thing as real altruism? Niebuhr would likely respond, “Who cares? No, probably not. Now go give money.”
That’s it. Thank you.
