When Karl Barth dropped the bombshell of his theology into the playground of high liberalism, he and the watching world believed that a revolution had taken place. A radical new theological alternative to the tradition of Friedrich Schleiermacher had been proposed. The truth of such matters, of course, is never so simple, and so it is here. It has therefore become something of a brag to observe that Schleiermacher and Barth may in fact have had more in common than might initially be supposed. Robert Sherman has written this book to add weight to the observation.

Sherman’s contention is that Barth’s theology, instead of offering a real alternative to Schleiermacher’s, was a model that operated within Schleiermacher’s theological tradition. He seeks to demonstrate this through a comparison of their doctrines of creation. Both theologians, he claims, held up Christ as the hermeneutical key for understanding creation. Furthermore, both attempted to do so whilst holding together on the one hand a loyalty to the Church’s historic faith, and on the other an intellectual integrity and relevance to their own day.

Sherman has certainly set himself a difficult task: the differences between the two are profound. Their views on creation are no exception. In the first place, whilst Barth dedicated something like a fifth of his theology to creation. Schleiermacher gave creation very little significance in his overall system. Christ’s relation to creation is also seen very differently by each. Schleiermacher’s feelings-based methodology, for instance, could not even be so specific as to posit Christ as the agent of creation. It is no wonder, then, that at many points Sherman’s argument feels strained.

The first step of Sherman’s argument is to demonstrate that Barth and Schleiermacher shared a similar methodology. He manages to establish that neither examined creation by attempting to let creation interpret itself unaided. In other words, both rejected a natural theological method. Both were engaged in ‘faith seeking understanding’; more, both saw an encounter with Christ as essential to understanding creation. However, a closer look shows that the resemblance is more superficial than it first looks. Sherman’s conclusion to this part of his argument is built on the suggestion that both Barth and Schleiermacher founded their treatments of creation on experience. For Schleiermacher, that defining experience is the feeling of dependence on God that affects how the Christian understands the world and its origins. For Barth the experience is an encounter with God’s Word. Yet surely those two ‘experiences’ are incomparably dissimilar! The term ‘experience’ has become so broad as to be useless. What is definitive for Schleiermacher is a human feeling; what is definitive for Barth is divine revelation. It is the difference between the spirit of man and the Word of God. It is disconcerting that Sherman can consider this to be a point of profound similarity.

Fortunately his comparison of the contents of each theologian’s doctrine of creation is more fruitful. He is entirely correct to note that both give prominence to the idea that Christ is the archetypal human, and he is correct that both believed humanity to have been created mortal, such that death can be viewed as a natural part of life, instead of a curse. He is able to produce a fascinating and illuminating comparison of their respective doctrines of evil and their accounts of the overall divine purpose in creation.

That said, a comparison with Calvin and the Reformed tradition might have been just as revealing. Both demonstrate distinctly Reformed tendencies throughout, from their methodology to their brands of supralapsarianism. This should not surprise us. Both were a part of the Reformed tradition. Sherman’s book exhibits a mild case of historical myopia in thinking that some formal similarities between Schleiermacher and Barth are anything particularly special.

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