Scott R. Erwin's excellent new book repairs a serious lacuna in the understanding of Reinhold Niebuhr's Irony of American History. Too often, readers of Niebuhr's work ignore the theological foundations of his analysis of world events. In part, this is the result of Niebuhr's effort to make his work accessible to a secular audience, to solve the problem of how the Christian can speak in the public square. Erwin explains why reading Niebuhr without his theology is a mistake, and places Niebuhr's theology at the center of the political work.

Key to Erwin's analysis is the possibility of moving “beyond tragedy.” As Niebuhr taught, human beings are both subjects of their environments and able to transcend mere history and environment; they are both creatures and creative (12). The tragic view recognizes that human activity is inevitably a more or less unhappy mixture of good and bad works, that the actions we take are not pure either in our motives or in their outcomes. Such a view leads easily to a cynical retreat from responsibility. To move beyond tragedy can mean to assume moral responsibility in spite of the recognition of our imperfection.

Ultimately, such a stance is ironic: Erwin argues that for Niebuhr irony is an essentially Christian point of view, that therefore Niebuhr's theology is really central to his historical and political teachings (though most commentators neglect this), and that Niebuhr hoped irony would offer unbelievers a path that could lead them to his own Christian presuppositions; seeing the result, they could trace his thought back to its theological source (120, 124). Irony is indicated especially by a rueful sense of humor at one's own pretensions. Thus irony suggests two points of view at once, the perspective of the pretentious person or nation, and the perspective by that same person or nation from a higher vantage point. The ironic perspective is thus both in the battle and above it (127). This ironic view is not simply amusing; the particular source of the humor is recognition of one's own hubris. Perhaps modern nations like the two superpowers are especially inclined to the tendency of “prideful self-assertion” (12). Niebuhr warns against “claiming too much knowledge of eternal mysteries” (15). Erwin points out that Niebuhr was deeply concerned about America's “illusion of innocence,” the nation's easy conscience, and its inability to recognize the irony of its own pretensions (131–132).

But at about this point Erwin's account takes a turn in favor of “decisive historical action.” The ironic stance, Erwin argues, is inappropriate and even irresponsible when the nation is faced with insufferable tyranny (137). Erwin's Niebuhr becomes so intent on taking action and on the potential for human transcendence that readers may begin to lose sight of Niebuhr's warnings about the hubris of human activity. Niebuhr's response to Barth and his efforts to move “beyond tragedy” lead Erwin to “a theological reading of the work [that] reveals Niebuhr's eternal optimism for what can be accomplished in and beyond history when individuals place their abiding faith in God” (158). While Erwin acknowledges Niebuhr's critique of American hubris, he emphasizes that in contrast to Barth and Hauerwas Niebuhr urged America to continue its mission (in a phrase Erwin draws from George Washington) to preserve the sacred fire of liberty (159). In the end Erwin's Niebuhr is much more in the battle than above it. Erwin contrasts Niebuhr's work especially with that of Barth and, to a lesser extent, Hauerwas. In doing so Niebuhr's understanding is framed in a particular way, as a model for political action. The value of Erwin's work is to show the theology that serves as the foundation of Niebuhr's call to work. Barth advocated (at least at certain vital moments) for a Christianity that focused on revelation more than engagement. In contrast, then, Niebuhr must mean to focus on engagement. But Niebuhr was also very critical of another model which represented to him an example of the hubris of American exceptionalism bound to a kind of public piety. For Niebuhr “[t]here is always the ideal possibility” that human beings can transcend “the necessities of nature” (Irony of American History, 157–158). Yet at the same time and for the same people, “the pretensions of virtue are as offensive to God as the pretensions of power” (Irony of American History, 160). Niebuhr declares that he sees America making the same ironic errors as Babylon and Israel, and therefore he returns to the model of the biblical prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel who warned the powerful and righteous of their folly. Niebuhr's Christian irony leads to a prophetic stance toward political life, at once demanding better action toward justice, and also criticizing the nation's actions for its pretensions and failures.

Niebuhr adopted a model of thought that took seriously several of Paul's dictums. Erwin has brought significant attention to the idea of being in but not of the world. In Erwin's critique of Niebuhr's reluctance to speak of Christian symbols in the public square, he misses Niebuhr's dependence on Paul in I Corinthians, who likened the message of the cross to foolishness to the Greeks and a stumbling block for Jews. In historic Christianity, the message differs according to the audience. The pastor must preach Christ and him crucified. To do so as political speech, however, both demands conversion from all members of the nation, and denies Paul's wisdom. Niebuhr may have been conflicted over how to understand biblical myth. But he was attempting to face the question of how a Christian can act responsibly in the world, while recognizing that the world is not the kingdom of God.

That was the dynamic that Niebuhr faced, that is faced by all Christian theologians who would venture into the public square. Karl Barth in his own day and Stanley Hauerwas in ours have castigated Niebuhr for attempting relevance rather than revelation. That remains an important critique. But once that critique is accepted, it is not at all clear how a Christian can influence the wider society other than to withdraw from it. That was the model Barth frequently took, though not consistently — and Niebuhr attacked him for that inconsistency as hypocrisy.

Niebuhr's life and work confront the fundamental and enduring problem of how a person of faith can act in the political world, and how theology can speak in the public square. Niebuhr's solution is The Irony of American History, but it is a solution Erwin does not seem entirely satisfied with. Erwin concludes that Niebuhr's actions (more than his writings) can serve as a model for Christian politics (160). This valuable work should restore scholars' appreciation of the paradox between being “in the battle and above it” and invite their renewed engagement with the foundations of Niebuhr's thought.