“You Are Responsible to No One and to Nothing”: Barth, Berdyaev, and Artistic Freedom

This paper will compare two theologies of human freedom in relation to artistic creativity: Nicolas Berdyaev’s theology of creativity, which contends that human agency is characterized by freedom such that humans extend, and even eclipse, God’s creative act through their creativity as a means to their own salvation; and Karl Barth’s theological anthropology, which emphasizes that human action should be understood in relation to the freedom of the triune God, who alone is truly free and yet who graciously upholds and enables creaturely activity through Jesus Christ.

"My Name Is Asher Lev," a novel by Chaim Potok originally published in 1972, recounts the story of Asher, a Jewish boy who must navigate the tension between his growing artistic talent and the iconoclasm of his Hasidic Jewish community. The Rebbe, the leader of their religious community, instructs Asher to meet with Jacob Kahn, a seasoned, non-practicing Jewish artist, to see if he might help Asher. But the young artist finds that for the older artist, making art requires absolute freedom from any other responsibilities, even those to the community:

“All Jews are responsible one for the other,” I said, quoting the statement from the Talmud my father had years ago quoted to me.

“As an artist you are responsible to Jews?” He seemed angry. “Listen to me, Asher Lev. As an artist you are responsible to no one and to nothing, except to yourself and to the truth as you see it. Do you understand? An artist is responsible to his art. Anything else is propaganda.” (My Name Is Asher Lev, 218)

The fictional character of Kahn finds a real-life analog in American philosopher Monroe Beardsley. Perhaps best known in contemporary aesthetics for advocating for “the intentional fallacy,” Beardsley also echoes the view of Asher’s teacher that freedom is paramount to the work of the artist: “What the creative artist needs above all from his society is freedom.” (“The Inherent Values of Art,” 582).

Kahn and Beardsley aren’t alone in advocating for the role of freedom in artistic creativity. Russian theologian and philosopher Nicolas Berdyaev (1874-1948) interprets humanity’s creation in the image of God (Gen. 1:26-27) to mean that humans possess freedom, which is essential to and expressed in artistic creativity: “In creativeness man himself reveals the image and likeness of God in him, manifests the divine power within him.” (The Meaning of the Creative Act, 99). It is freedom, then, and not obedience, that is the essential characteristic of human agency: “Man is to face the world not with humble obedience but rather with creative activity.” (The Meaning of the Creative Act, 167). In the exercise of its creativity, Berdyaev contends, humanity participates in divine creation to the point that it extends God’s creative act in an “eighth day of creation.” (The Meaning of the Creative Act, 137). Predictably, this view has soteriological implications: humanity’s “chief end is not to be saved but to mount up, creatively.” (The Meaning of the Creative Act, 105). Ultimately, for Berdyaev, humanity’s freedom expressed in artistic creativity becomes a means to its own salvation.

Karl Barth never developed a theology of artistic creativity. Standing squarely in the Reformed tradition, he had deep reservations about the arts, including any potential breaking of the second commandment, the threat of “allowing an aestheticism to speak” as if it were “the last word,” (Church Dogmatics, II/1, 652), and the “extremely dangerous” nature of the concept of beauty (Church Dogmatics, II/1, 651). Even though his youngest son, Hans Jacob, was an artist and despite some of his own interactions with the arts, including his well-known passion for Mozart’s music, Barth believed that the self-revelation of God in Christ disallowed other forms of human creativity: “God has done everything in order to present Himself. How should man make an image of Him after He has presented His likeness Himself? A well-intentioned business, this entire ‘spectacle’ of Christian art, well-intentioned but impotent, since God Himself has made His own image.” (Dogmatics in Outline, 41).

Nonetheless, Barth’s theological anthropology and his construal of human freedom can helpfully inform a theology of creativity. For Barth, God alone is truly free, which is revealed in God’s free self-revelation in the person of Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit. In this regard, not only is God “free to rule over the world in supreme majesty,” but God is also free “to serve in the world as the humblest and meanest of servants.” (Church Dogmatics, II/1, 315). In Christ, who is truly human, humanity’s creaturely agency is not denied or rejected, but affirmed and upheld. Thus, the freedom of God does not destroy the freedom of the creature nor deny the authenticity of its agency. In fact, it is precisely the triune God’s sovereign and merciful lordship that provides the basis of human freedom: “The unconditioned and irresistible lordship of God means not only that the freedom of creaturely activity is neither jeopardised nor suppressed, but rather that it is confirmed in all its particularity and variety.” (Church Dogmatics, III/3, 146). Such creaturely activity, which is characterized by obedience and responsibility to God, includes the work of human artists.

Barth’s construal of human freedom locates creaturely agency within the bounds of a genuine yet limited creaturely action that is upheld by the freedom of the triune God. Perhaps surprisingly, then, although Barth did not develop a theology of creativity, his theology provides not only a needed corrective to theologies of creativity, like Berdyaev’s, that overemphasize human agency, but it can provide a firmer foundation for humanity’s artistic activity: the freedom and grace of the triune God.