Brazos Press, 2001. Pp. 254. $18.99
(paper)
[1] Like me, you might begin reading this review for the sake of
balance, to listen at least for a little while to the voice of a
pacifist sectarian whose theology, though interesting and
admirable, is also eccentric and unrealistic. You, as a
reader, therefore begin with the assumption that Yoder sits on the
edge of orthodox, mainstream Christian thought, lifting up a
de-centering minority critique that is important, yet still on the
edge.
[2] Craig Carter in his The Politics of the Cross wants
to disabuse us of this notion. In a discussion of the
historical context of Yoder's thought, he announces that "the
ecumenical significance of Yoder's work is not that he articulates
a peace witness on behalf of a small denomination but rather that
he presents a strong case for peace being at the heart of the
biblical gospel as it is enshrined in the creeds of orthodox
Christianity" (49). Earlier, Carter states, "I want to show
that, for Yoder, pacifism is not the point; Jesus is the
point. Not only is Jesus the point, but protecting,
declaring, and unpacking the claims of classical Christology is
what Yoder is about" (17). For Carter, Yoder is a minority
voice situated at the center of the Christian tradition crying out
to the rest of us, "Come home!"
[3] Carter begins by analyzing Yoder's historical context.
Part I of Carter's work is a lengthy working out of the proposition
that Yoder's theology represents a recovery of the Anabaptist
vision, and a faithful continuation, even a fulfillment, of Karl
Barth's method. He "creatively unites aspects of his Anabaptist
theological heritage with the theological method and major themes
of Karl Barth's thought to create a distinctive postliberal
alternative to Christian Realism, liberation theology, and
privatized evangelical religion" (23).
[4] As a result of his Anabaptist heritage, Yoder develops a
biblically based, high Christology, understands ethics as
obedience, defines the church's mission as witness, and understands
this witness occurring through the church's distinctiveness from
the world, particularly in its pacifism. From Barth, Yoder
learns a narrative approach to Scripture, rejects natural theology,
and adopts the Barthian dictum that dogmatics is ethics and vice
versa, so that social ethics and theology are inextricably
intermixed.
[5] Of course, Yoder also moves beyond these categories in
creative ways, so much so that Carter can exclaim, together with
Stanley Hauerwas, that "a century from now, Yoder's work will be
seen as a new beginning" (225). Piling up adjectives (as well
as a few adverbs) to indicate how Yoder is a new beginning, Carter
labels Yoder a Barthian, Anabaptist, postliberal, theologically
orthodox, radical, nonfoundationalist, nonrelativist, evangelical,
Jewish, Christian, Christocentric, Trinitarian social
ethicist. Much of Carter's work in the book is focused on
unpacking these labels.
[6] The central section of Carter's book (Part's II, III, and
IV) present a systematic fleshing out of Yoder's thought-
Christology as the source, eschatology as the
context, and ecclesiology as the shape of Yoder's
social ethics. It is a fascinating and helpful project.
Because much of Yoder's writing is conversational and ad
hoc, the gift of systematic reflections on these traditional
areas of Christian thought is a great guide to future readings of
Yoder.
[7] Carter's most challenging and illuminating reading of Yoder
is in Part III. Here Carter observes that "Yoder developed a
christocentric eschatology using his Barthian method of relating
all doctrinal statements to their true center-Jesus Christ as he is
attested in Scripture-and the result was the clarification of the
true status and character of Constantinianism as an eschatological
heresy" (140). For Yoder, there are eight distinguishing
points at which Constantinianism distorts or denies biblical
eschatology. These are worth hearing in full, given recent
currents in United States policy and Christian thought.
[8] First, Constantinianism denies Christ's lordship by placing
human rulers in the place of Jesus. For example, "when the
modern nation-state drafts Christians into the army and commands
them to kill Christians from another nation-state" (157), then the
state has supplanted the lordship of Christ. Second,
Constantinianism eases the already/not-yet tension of the two ages,
by relegating the new age to the past, to the future, to the ideal,
or by fusing the new age with the old. Third,
Constantinianism denies Christ's victory over the powers, sometimes
by compromising with them in the name of realism, other times by
failing to acknowledge that the powers in fact are fallen and in
need of a redeemer. Fourth, and most blasphemous,
Constantinianism identifies a human kingdom directly with the
kingdom of God. The present human kingdom performs
redemptive, salvific acts; it itself operates with "Infinite
Justice."
[9] The list continues. Fifth, "in Constantinianism, the
church is no longer a body of people who have a different
lifestyle; rather it is merely an aspect of society… the
church is the service station for the 'crisis experiences' and for
the 'depth dimensions' of life" (159). In short, the church
is no longer a people but a religion. Sixth, Constantianism
does not distinguish between the church and the world. In
uniting the two, the church can no longer function as a distinctive
witness to the world. Seventh, Constantinianism operates as
if Jesus did not fundamentally alter history and its meaning.
Instead, and eighth in our list, the state itself "becomes the
bearer of the meaning of history and thus takes the place of the
church eschatologically" (162).
[10] In light of this heresy, Yoder proposes some options for
Christian thought. First, a Christian will not expect
redemption from the state. Furthermore, Yoder argues that
there is no such thing as "the state as such," and thus Christians
cannot legitimize the state by developing a Christian theory of it,
nor can they uphold the positivist option, that "whatever is, is
good" (163). Instead, following a close reading of Romans 13,
Yoder proposes subjection to the existing state, but obedience only
when the commands of the state do no contradict the will of
God. Christians can disobey. They may not rebel.
[11] Following this extensive discussion of Constantinianism,
Carter presents what is either an incredibly clever theory, or an
exceedingly strange historical conjecture. Based on a remark
of Yoder's that "Judaism through the Middle Ages demonstrated the
sociological viability of the ethic of Jesus" (168), Carter wonders
whether this fact has anything to do with Christendom's
anti-Semitism. That is, is the anti-Semitism present at a
social level in Constantinian Christianity a larger manifestation
of the personal, sometimes vitriolic, vehemence experienced by
out-spoken pacifists when they mention their pacifism to
non-pacifist Christians?
[12] Although Carter's book represents an admirable attempt at a
constructive synthesis of Yoder's thought, it will also leave many
readers hungry. Carter portrays Yoder as an ecumenical and
catholic thinker, but I imagine, given his believer's church
ecclesiology, that Roman Catholic and Orthodox thinkers (not to
mention Lutherans and other "liturgical" Protestants) would find
his approach to baptism (and the sacraments generally) something of
a hurdle. The lack of references to thinkers from these
traditions does little to dispel this suspicion. Furthermore,
since Yoder is most famous for his sustained defense of pacifism,
Carter's work would benefit from greater concentration on the
topic, especially on Yoder's distinctive understanding of pacifism
as presented in Nevertheless: Varieties of Religious
Pacifism, and his sustained critique of the just war tradition
in When War Is Unjust: Being Honest In Just-War
Theory.
[13] On the other hand, Carter's clear exposition of Christian
social ethics as applying primarily to Christians for the sake
of witness to the watching world is superb, and his
presentation of a cross-conditioned correspondence theory of
Christian discipleship is challenging in the extreme. "Only
at one point, only on one subject-but then consistently,
universally-is Jesus our example: in his cross" (78). For
calling us in this direction, and for calling us back to a closer
reading of Yoder as a theologian of the highest order, we can give
hearty thanks.
© June
2004
Journal of Lutheran Ethics (JLE)
Volume 4, Issue 6