Fantasy isn’t my preferred reading genre, but it is popular and recently I was grateful for an opportunity to read and review The Atlas Complex[1], the final instalment of the bestselling ‘Atlas Six’ trilogy. Set in an alternative earth, six distinctive, magical, and all too human characters come to terms with their own power, and gradually recognise the ways in which they are also caught and shaped by the power inherent in societal structures. As their power grows, so do the number and kinds of choices they have available, and the reverberations of any decisions they make escalate. (We only need to consider Gaza, or the stories of the Post Office scandal, for example, to see plenty of evidence of the ways in which the decisions and actions of those with power can devastatingly impact on the lives of others.)
Within the narrative of The Atlas Complex, there is an exploration of the fluidity and complexity of power and power relationships (the clue is in the title!). Similarly, in recent years there has been much reflection on power in the Church and society alike: how we understand it, use it, and express it within our personal and collective relationships. There is increased recognition that power is not something that some ‘have’ and others do not, nor is it something intrinsically good or bad, but power is fluid and dynamic, demanding recognition and respectful, reflective use.[2] It is not just the abuse and misuse of power that causes harm, since failing to acknowledge or responsibly to exercise power can also be damaging. The fluidity of power and the number of different ways in which power is exercised and expressed within communities, families, churches and cultures, means that conversations around power can be equally fluid and multi-faceted; and thus deeply challenging, not least when navigating our own power and vulnerabilities in our relating to others.
Despite their extraordinary powers, the Atlas Six are also vulnerable, as they have to be constantly watchful for those hired to kill them. There are different forms of human vulnerability. Much theological anthropology recognises that being both powerful and vulnerable is a part of being human. Identifying and reflecting on where power and vulnerability lie, however, can often be difficult and multifaceted. Boundaries can be blurred, not least because people, contexts and cultures are different, and agreement about acceptable behaviours may vary. The Bible itself shows us this, even before there is consideration of how it has been interpreted in different places and situations across the years. In contemporary British society, the different narratives and perspectives around gender justice are one example of this complexity. It is a subject also topical in current literature. For example the thriller, One of the Good Guys, deliberately plays with shifting sympathies as it uses unreliable narrators and a mix of written media (news articles, chat forums, texts) to incorporate a range of views on women’s rights, gender relationships, and issues of consent. The reader is unsure who or what to trust, and is left with mixed and sometimes paradoxical views of the characters and their actions.
As I read both of these novels, I was also preparing for a Methodist Covenant service[3], aware of the ways in which the language used in the covenant prayer can be difficult. Reflections on how power is used and misused prompts theological questions about God’s power and human autonomy, and ecclesiological questions about the nature and expression of authority within and by the Body of Christ. The emphasis of the Covenant service, though, is on God’s love and grace. Love and grace: these are the heart and character of the covenant relationship. We are called to bear witness to God’s steadfast love and promised new life in Christ. If grappling with issues of power can be tough, complex and sometimes overwhelming, perhaps love and grace might be touchstones to help in both our personal and communal discernment and decision-making. Seeking signs of God’s love and grace may help to reveal, and enable us to navigate, a path through.
[1] Blake, O. (2024) The Atlas Complex. London: PanMacmillan
[2] For further reflection see the 2021 Theology of Safeguarding report, section 7(Conference 2021 Agenda Volume 2 (methodist.org.uk) and the 2023 A Justice Seeking Church: Walking with Micah Project report, section 3 (Conference 2023 Agenda Volume 1 (methodist.org.uk)).
Theology Everywhere 
A very thoughtful and interesting article with a good conclusion.
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Thank you Nicola. Thought provoking and challenging as ever.
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Excellent article. Made me think! In particular about the fact that someone who is homeless, hungry, despised and rejected, alienated, lonely, in debt or in mourning actually has no power whatsoever. What meaning can we attach to; “It is not just the abuse and misuse of power that causes harm, since failing to acknowledge or responsibly to exercise power can also be damaging”, if we have no power in the first place? Could it be that what St Paul called the “weakness of God” (1 Cor. 1:29) is the “foolish” powerlessness of the call or demand on our souls that we love and care for each other? And in responding to that call do we become part of the unconditional love of God that has nothing to do with sovereign power or political power or economic power, but everything to do with the power of Love. Is this way of understanding power idealistic otherworldliness or wishful thinking or ignoring the reality of a world based on power or just me being silly?
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The words ‘power’ and ‘grace’ in the same sentence bring to my mind fond memories of our beloved late Queen Elizabeth II. She was the embodiment of power and grace, even though she did not choose power for herself; she had greatness ‘thrust upon her.’ She was quoted as saying she would have liked to be a farmer’s wife, but no-one wielded power more graciously than she did. Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord.
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