Abstract
St Paul’s talk of ‘the powers’ at various points in his New Testament letters has been something of an embarrassment for modern theology in the West—an embarrassment reflected in its silence regarding this Pauline theme. In Christ, Power and Mammon, Scott Prather breaks this silence by offering a perceptive analysis of the place of ‘the powers’ within central Christian doctrines. He does this by putting Karl Barth and John Howard Yoder into a dialogue, the aim of which is to enable Christian theology to have the freedom to name and resist ‘the destructive lure of Mammon’s power’ (p. 7).
The bulk of the work consists in exegesis of Karl Barth and John Howard Yoder. Prather begins by analysing the theological significance of the powers in the theologies of Barth (Chapter one) and Yoder (Chapter two). With the establishment of Barth’s and Yoder’s exousiology in place, Prather constructs a dialogue between these two thinkers concerning the place of the powers in a doctrine of the eschaton (Chapter three). Prather then moves from talking about the powers in general to specific powers, namely political power and economic power (Chapter four). Here Prather illustrates the connections Barth and Yoder draw between exousiology and political/economic life. Finally, Prather’s work culminates in critical examination of the power of Mammon (Chapter five).
This book operates in three distinct but related fields. First, it is at home in the crowded world of Barth studies. While Prather makes no claims to be exhaustive in his treatment of Barth’s exousiology (his focus is on the ‘mature’ Barth of the Church Dogmatics era), he does intend to correct a perceived weakness in certain readings of Barth’s work. Prather is critical of the ‘spiritualizing’ tendency within certain Anglo-American readers of Barth (p. 5). That said, Prather is also critical of the mature Barth’s overly ‘metaphysical’ account of the powers (pp. 185–86). Indeed, though the author builds on the mature Barth’s exousiology, when it comes to the critical task of naming and resisting capitalism, it is the early Barth—and not the mature Barth or even John Howard Yoder—to whom he appeals. Prather is not unaware of this tension within his work, and admits that the post-World War II Barth offers both promises and problems to the ‘exousiological ethic’ he wishes to describe. Some unexplored questions therefore remain: what is the relationship between the early Barth and the mature Barth? Is the latter largely continuous or largely discontinuous with the former’s rage against the power of capitalism? Prather notes the need for further analysis of these historical questions, and admits that his work represents only a beginning.
The book also operates as an interpretation of Yoder’s thought. Prather’s treatment of Yoder is more comprehensive than his treatment of Barth. We are given not only a learned description of Yoder’s exousiology, but also an account of its influences (which include Barth) and its rivals. Yoder is shown to offer an alternative to the Niebuhrian divide between Christology and politics, an alternative which finds its theological justification in the New Testament’s language of the powers and Christ’s triumph over them, and which builds on the Christocentric theology of Barth. Nevertheless, though recognizing their commonality, Prather sees Yoder as (rightly) going beyond Barth at certain crucial points, particularly with regard to the intrinsic socio-political import of Christ’s lordship.
In the dialogue which Prather constructs, then, Yoder has the upper hand over Barth. Yet the nature of this dialogue is somewhat unfair. Yoder is given something important to say to Barth, but Barth is given little to say to Yoder by way of response. Prather clearly sees Yoder’s immediately ‘historical’ exousiology as a necessary advance on Barth’s ‘metaphysical’ or ‘ontological’ exousiology, but Yoder’s improvement of Barth’s theology may not be as self-evident as Prather makes it out to be. Is the ‘ontological’ and mature Barth without good reason for his caution regarding ‘history’ and the ‘historical,’ at least insofar as these are connected all-too-easily with the kingdom of God? The dialogue which this book constructs is not as double-edged as it might have been. It should also be noted that a troubling question stemming from Yoder’s well-documented abuse of power and his theological justification of this abuse is passed over by Prather. Can Yoder still be used as a ‘source’ for a Christian articulation of the powers? This is a live question both in the field of Yoder studies and in the discipline of theology more generally, and its absence from Prather’s work is a weakness.
Finally, the book operates as a work of ‘exousiological ethics’ (p. 231). As a theological argument for human struggle and resistance against the power of capitalism, Christ, Power and Mammon is at its strongest. The only pity is that this aspect of the book receives relatively little explicit attention. Prather’s brief analysis of the political and economic factors involved in the Hurricane Katrina disaster exposes ‘the myths we live by’ (p. 238), and highlights the urgent need to name those powers which de-humanize us by compromising our fidelity to Christ’s lordship. It should be noted that Prather is not attempting to use exousiology as a way to construct ideal or original forms of human social life. Rather, he uses Barth and Yoder to demonstrate that the powers which govern human social life are themselves governed by Christ. And Christ’s governance of the powers is intrinsically historical. This is a compelling argument which is also ‘disturbing’ in the best sense of the word. With Christ, Power and Mammon Prather has re-energized a conversation about ‘the powers’ that must continue.