Much of the content of Marcella Althaus-Reid’s From Feminist Theology to Indecent Theology seems to follow feminist liberation projects we read last week, particularly in its emphasis on the marginalized of the marginalized and on the epistemological primacy of experience. She even revisits particular terms and ideas seen in Grant and Williams, such as memory, the triple oppression of race, class, and gender, and understanding Israel as the oppressor in their own story. Yet, as is clear in the title, Althaus-Reid takes these projects in new directions; her development can be expressed as replacing gender with sexuality in feminist theology and queer-ing the modernist assumptions of liberation theology. Regarding the former, I must admit a certain level of confusion owing to an only minimal familiarity with Judith Butler’s work (her arguing for biological sex and social gender roles as both constructed and performative). However, as I can reconstruct the nuances of the categories from Althaus-Reid and the significance of her reorientation around sexuality, I find an emphasis on the bodily experience of women and their sexual lives, topics previously labeled taboo or construed according to heterosexual norms. This parallels her criticism of liberation theology for continuing to operate under a modernist paradigm, guilty often of essentializing or, at the least, maintaining discrete categories. In contrast with this, Althaus-Reid argues that liberation theology did not go far enough (and even levels the fascinating critique that it has been coopted by North America) and seeks instead to utilize the boundary crossing methods of queer theology. In this way, not even Christian orthodoxy is safe from the experiential critique of the economically and sexually marginalized of Latin America.
There is so much of interest in these twelve chapters—and I certainly hope that we can discuss the methodology of queer theology in contrast with feminist in class—but I want to point to a small criticism and a larger question that developed for me in the initial few chapters. In the first part of the book, Althaus-Reid frequently discusses Mariology with a variation of simplicity and explicit criticism for how it manifests in the Latin American context. Her cynicism mirrors many feminists as theologies of Mary can be seen as suppressive and misogynistic. I am reminded, however, of a reading done for Dr. Flowers of Kristy Nabhan-Warren’s “Little Slices of Heaven and Mary’s Candy Kisses: Mexican American Women Redefining Feminism and Catholicism,” which among other things, argued that despite the critiques of intellectual elites, Mary can be a very empowering figure for Latin American women. This contrast leads, in my mind, to a larger question: in as much as feminist or any contextual theology seeks to speak from certain experiences and contexts, how important is that these theologies actually mirror their constituents? Is it enough for there to be one person who identifies with such belief (the author themselves), or (and I speak hyperbolically) do we need to conduct surveys? The question of speaking for a group and the sizable divisions of that group that may not agree, I imagine, becomes a serious problem to be solved.