Good & Evil
Via On Being a Theologian of the Cross, pp. 81-90
Thesis 21. A theology of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theology of the cross calls the thing what it actually is.
This is the way the thesis reads in the earlier printings of the American edition of Luther’s Works. I use the translation purposely here as a kind of object lesson. The Latin original speaks not of a theology of glory or of the cross, but, as we have been insisting all along, of a theologian. Later printings have, fortunately, made this correction. But the mistake illustrates a persistent tendency. Our temptation is always to change the subject. In this case the blame is switched from us to theology. The assumption is that we can more or less easily escape the error described by just disavowing the theology. “Call evil good and good evil? Who? Me? No way! I don’t hold with the theology of glory!” So the matter is settled–supposedly. Yet we have seen all along in the preceding theses and their proofs how we actually do get drawn into calling evil good and good evil. The theologian is the culprit here, not the theology as such. The theologian is always the acting subject, indeed, the ultimate reason why the theology comes out as it does. The point here is that the theologian of glory is impelled to act in a certain way. We can even say that over against the cross all theologize as they must. This is the outcome of the great divide. Faulty seeing leads inexorably to false speaking. The cross, as Luther could put it, finds us out (Crux probat omnia).
***
What we have to say about suffering is usually a prime example of the faulty speech of the theologian of glory. Suffering is called evil and works good. The word of the cross, however, inflicts the very suffering they talked about. The words are difficult just for the reason Luther says they are. We are inveterate theologians of glory. We are tempted and bound to be so. We invest all our capital in works. There is then a necessary relation between works and the way we regard suffering. We work to avoid suffering–mostly for here but sometimes also for the hereafter. Or, if we don’t work to avoid suffering, we run from it. We might even work to stave off the fear of death, not to say the suffering of hell. We depend upon and glory in our works, and we call these self-serving deeds good. Suffering, we insist, is bad. If it comes upon us we immediately begin to wonder if we have failed somehow in our works. Since theologians of glory shy away from the depths of the cross and its forgiveness, there can be no honesty about reality and the way things are. The self that invests in its own works has no recourse but to defend itself to the end.
As a result we look on suffering from the outside. It is painful and generally to be avoided. From this position of Olympian transcendence we may on occasion feel guilty enough to descend into the world of suffering to express our solidarity with the oppressed, the poor, and the afflicted. We will call it “Incarnational Theology” or something of the sort. (Notice how easily one can slip over into calling it a theology! Then one can espouse it without doing much. One can take occasional trips to impoverished or ravaged areas and come home to talk about it.) Jesus is set up as our model. “Misery loves company” is the prime Christological motif. Christ humbled himself and descended into the world of suffering so we ought to too. If, on occasion, this causes a bit of pain or discomfort, we can tally it up on our ledger of good works.
Thus theologians of glory are not above turning even “The Theology of the Cross” to their own advantage. So it can even happen as we see today that “The Theology of the Cross” comes into a certain vogue. It provides additional levers for therapists and ethicists. As a “theology,” the theology of the cross turns very easily into a negative theology of glory. Our occasional pain becomes our good work. If we can’t make it by escaping suffering, perhaps we can by entering into it. So we hear a good bit of sentimental talk these days about entering into solidarity with those who suffer, as though it were something we might do on weekends.
***
…the suffering Luther has in mind first and foremost is the result of God’s operation on the sinner. One can find reference to that throughout his writings. The suffering Luther has in mind is something God inflicts on us just by virtue of the fact that he moves against the presumption of our works. He is out to do it all. We suffer this unilateral action of God. we suffer because we don’t like it. We don’t like to be put out of control. It means that we are rendered totally passive by the divine operation through the cross and resurrection of Jesus. “Passive” has, of course, become something of a bad word in contemporary speech. It is taken to mean lack of assertiveness, lack of motivation, lack of care, extreme lassitude. But we should recall that it comes from the same root as “passion” and means literally the same thing as suffering–as in “the passion of our Lord.” Luther used it constantly to describe the proper disposition of the sinner to the grace of God. Precisely because the sinner has taken up an active position (the “active potency” of thesis 14!) in relation to God’s activity on the basis of works, God’s action over against the sinner can only result in suffering. The sinner is therefore rendered absolutely passive, put totally out of commission, we might say today. The sinner can only suffer the divine action. The comment on Psalm 2:9, “Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron,” gives a good picture of the kind of suffering Luther has in mind:
For since the Word of Christ is the Word not in the flesh but in the spirit, it must suppress and cast out the salvation, peace, life, and grace of the flesh. When it does this, it appears to the flesh harder and more cruel than iron itself. For whenever a carnal man is touched in a wholesome way by the Word of God, one thing is felt, but another actually happens. Thus it is written [1 Sam. 2:6-7]: “The Lord kills and brings to life; He brings down to hell and raises up; He brings low, He also exalts.” Isaiah also beautifully portrays this allegorical working of God when he says [28:21], “He does His work–strange is His deed; and He works His work–alien is his work!” It is as if heHis proper work, yet, in order to accomplish this, He kills and destroys. These works are alien to Him, but through them He accomplishes His proper work. For He kills our will that His may be established in us. He subdues the flesh and its lusts that the spirit and its desires may come to life.” [LW 14:335]
***
God can be known and had only through suffering the divine deed of the cross. The cross does not merely inform us of something, something that may be “above,” or “behind” it. It attacks and afflicts us. Knowledge of God comes when God happens to us, when God does himself to us. We are crucified with Christ (Gal. 2:19). The sinner, the old being, neither knows nor speaks the truth about God and consequently can only be put to death by the action of God. Such is the way one becomes a theologian of the cross, who can begin to speak and proclaim the truth of God, to “say what a thing is.”
