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That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.

Mourning is a response to loss in its repetition and particularity. In political theology, it is important to register mourning as psychic process and as (often religious) practice. Mourning is also embedded in many of the social and historical theories with which political theologies engage and contend. These theories register that the causes of loss, too, are ritualized and repetitive, and that their effects are particular and collective. Ritualized modes of upholding inequality, committing and tolerating violence, and participating in ecological destruction with unevenly distributed impacts give mourning deeply political valences. These patterns shape horizons of analysis and expectation, and estimations of the possibility or impossibility of invoking notions like hope, healing, and progress.

Practices associated with mourning, whether or not they are explicitly religious, register death’s relational weight and impact. Milinda Banerjee writes of grief and its associated rituals as restoring a sense of mutual belonging to a shared world.

In grieving, we win a chance to transcend bourgeois atomization, live again in the collective, place duty to others above individual profit. Where capital disaggregates, mourning invites to assembly. Where capital commodifies, mourning mandates veneration of beings. Where money-work forces an abbreviation of grief, mourning-work impels beings into action responsive and responsible to others…Within a capitalist globe where this-worldly exchange value rules supreme, mourning is always potentially anti-capitalist, promising other-world values.

Milinda Banerjee, “There is Grief, There is Death,” 176

The sacralization of connection and otherness that mourning makes accessible reveals through contrast a quotidian sense of loneliness and alienation, and a routine distortion of value that accedes to racial capitalist priorities. What is mourned, then, is not only the death that occasions grief, but grievous ways of living that submerge perception of pain and loss in a sense of inevitability. In Banerjee’s words, “The dead haunt us to self-awareness.”

An important theoretical strand of discourse on mourning derives from psychoanalytic thought about the ways that experiences of loss constitute subjectivity itself. Sigmund Freud’s “Mourning and Melancholia” (1917) and “The Ego and the Id” (1923) are common reference points that grapple with how loss is processed on the level of an individual’s (socially embedded) psyche, and Jacques Lacan elaborates a theory of subjectivity that revolves around a sense of division and lack— the impossibility of attaining wholeness as subjects whose reality emerges in and through language. The inextricability of melancholia from mourning was one of Freud’s conclusions in “The Ego and the Id,” and I use both terms in this entry.

 Many theorists of race, gender, and sexuality have found psychoanalytic work on mourning and loss evocative and useful, if often in need of revision. Hortense Spillers’ “All The Things You Could Be By Now, If Sigmund Freud’s Wife Was Your Mother” (1996) (the name of a 1961 song by jazz composer and bassist Charles Mingus) is a famous intervention into debates on the usefulness of psychoanalysis for African American and African diasporic modes of inquiry and relationality. Acknowledging that it is an uneasy and conflicted project, Spillers advocates for engaging with psychoanalytic approaches as a mode of personal and collective care of the self.

In Dead Subjects: Toward a Politics of Loss in Latino Studies (2007), Antonio Viego takes inspiration from Spillers into further engagements with Lacanian frameworks, arguing for a distinction between the necessary losses at the heart of subjectivity and the losses inflicted by racial hierarchy, oppression, and violence. Throughout this work, Viego tries “to engage a more varied and textured understanding of the losses experienced by ethnic-racialized subjects in a white supremacist society” than that made readily available in discourses of rights or exclusion (78).

Judith Butler argues in dialogue with Freud, Lacan, and their French feminist critics that normative gender and sexuality have a melancholic structure. One of the key claims of her 1990 book Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identityis that heterosexuality is consolidated when homosexual attachments are disavowed and foreclosed. Yet as decisive as these operations might seem, they signal ambivalent and insecure surrender. Ongoing, largely unacknowledged mourning registers the loss of love and possibility that these refusals require.

In a 1995 essay that consolidates many of her arguments about the melancholic formation of gender and sexuality, Butler argues that a widespread inability to acknowledge homosexual attachment or the pain of its loss makes inaccessible “a public occasion and language” for grieving lives lost to AIDS. A further cultural violence accrues to political and social neglect in the inability to collectively mourn when a community’s grief is “culturally thwarted and proscribed” (178). Kris Trujillo has recently elaborated how efforts to collectively register these forms of loss are part of the origin story of queer theory as a contemporary academic field. This processing of loss is not a sharp break in academic discourse. Rather, “the tradition of elegy conditions the emergence of queer theory because the elegiac mode fundamentally shapes the field of English studies to which queer theory is bound” (120). This elegiac lineage, moreover, challenges the presumptive secularity of queer theoretical frameworks in ways that are significant for political theology.

In the 1987 essay, “Mama’s Baby, Papa’s Maybe: An American Grammar Book,” Spillers argues that normative gendering is unavailable to Black women. From the “ungendering” of enslavement to the surveilling judgments of the Moynihan report, racialization precludes heteronormative compliance. (Kyla Wazana Tompkins notes Butler’s neglect of this essay and its insights about the “always-already raced” status of gender.) Cathy Cohen’s 1997 “Punks, Bulldaggers, and Welfare Queens: The Radical Potential of Queer Politics?” demonstrates that racism and poverty effectively “queer” many subjects who would self-identify as heterosexual, barring their alignment with elevated gender and sexual norms. In the context of discourse about mourning, it is important to note that these authors register both loss and possibility in alienation from dominant social standards.

This points to a recurring issue for both generalized theories of loss and political theologies striving to represent and respond to inequality and violence, one that brings discourse on mourning back to a focus on death. Critical geographer Ruth Wilson Gilmore’s definition of racism as “the state-sanctioned or extralegal production and exploitation of group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death” can, for instance, be placed alongside Dipesh Chakrabarty’s statement that to not receive a funeral means that one “has not received a social death” (“There is Grief, There is Death,” 179).

This phrase, social death, is evocative for its contrasting meanings. Chakrabarty is referring both to Antigone’s motivations in illegally caring for her deceased brother’s body and the many deaths in India from Covid-19 that were not ceremonially and socially observed. A social death is one that affirms the deceased as belonging to a social world. “Social death” is also a phrase coined by Orlando Patterson and extended by Lisa Marie Cacho to describe the denials of power, rights, and protection that structure patterns of violence and abandonment.

Declarations of mourning that deny these political arrangements can be key to understanding which losses do not count. When thoughts and prayers are summoned as a response to victims of police violence, school shootings, or civilian “casualties” of imperialist interventions including but not limited to official warfare, mourning is proclaimed but does not occur. To say that one is mourning these losses is a way of asserting that these events were regrettable but necessary, that they are in the past rather than ongoing.

What does it mean to share in mourning in ways that open rather than obstruct transformative potential? Tiffany Lethabo King begins The Black Shoals: Offshore Formations of Black and Native Studies (2019) with a moving reflection on how she was jolted into an understanding of the imbrication of Black and Indigenous losses in history and the present. The book that follows is her ensuing study of how “[e]ach form of violence has its own way of contaminating, haunting, touching, caressing, and whispering to the other” (x).

For King, the shoal is a methodologically important metaphor because it suggests a forced slowing down, a space of disorientation that demands “adjustment” and in which there is no absolute control over what converges or disintegrates (2-4). The shoal is a geological area where one is not decidedly at sea or on the shore, an accumulation of sedimented material that is a boon to fishing and a hazard for one trying to navigate a boat. If engaging one another’s loss is to be more than an occasion for catharsis or exculpatory performance, it may depend on modes of disruption like the ones that King encounters and analyzes. On the shoals, familiar movements become impossible. To slow down and truly “remember, register, and contemplate the damages, losses, and erasures of the past and present” (Winters 2016, 7) might reorient the ways we are accustomed to coping with everyday life as well as academic methodology.

A slower, indeterminate approach to navigating history’s relationship to the present through mourning does not exclude broad narratives of history, sociality, and violence. King recognizes in Anishinaabe accounts of genocide something that “had everything to do with slavery” (x) before she can narrate precisely why or how they are entwined. She senses something like what Christina Sharpe describes as “beholden-ness” (100-101) beckoning as both possibility and necessity. Political theology might seek to engage broad structural lenses, from historical materialism to queer negativity to Afro-pessimism, and their critics without supposing to know in advance how ongoing encounters and losses might shape what comes next. That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.

Annotated Bibliography

Cheng, Anne Anlin. The Melancholy of Race: Psychoanalysis, Assimilation, and Hidden Grief. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Through engagements with psychoanalytic theory, Cheng argues that grief is at the heart of racial identification. This work provides relational frameworks for connecting Asian American and African American racialization in the U.S.

Enwezor, Okwui. Grief and Grievance: Art and Mourning in America. Edited by Okwui Enwezor, Naomi Beckwith, and Massimiliano Gioni, et al. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2020.

This stunning catalogue is a combination of artwork and essays based on an exhibit curated by Okwui Enwezor. Enwezor died in 2019 and the opening at the New Museum was further delayed by Covid-19, finally appearing in 2021. The artists and writers address Black grief and Black responses to loss, as well as the perdurance of racism and rise of white nationalism.

Hollywood, Amy. Acute Melancholia and Other Essays: Mysticism, History, and the Study of Religion. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016.

Many of the essays in this volume deal with the relational power of loss and trauma, and how their entanglements with social positionality refract understandings of history, truth, and reality. Hollywood connects the ways that grief and suffering imbue medieval mystical accounts with issues in contemporary critical theory. See especially the opening “A Triptych” and “Acute Melancholia.”

Winters Joseph R. Hope Draped in Black: Race, Melancholy, and the Agony of Progress. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2016.

Winters problematizes a recurring turn to progress as a conciliatory or compensatory response to racial oppression and violence. He elaborates, in dialogue with Black literary and aesthetic traditions and Frankfurt School writers, modes of hope and futurity that issue from deep engagements with mourning and loss.


Native survivance, in [Gerald] Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival.”


Where relationality is most productive in critical projects is where it transcends its projects of critique and explores the possibilities—ethical, political, and theological—of its account of subjectivity and community.


Facing the violence of contemporary terror, many intellectuals have spoken in our present times about a return of political theology and religion in its violent forms. Attention to the concept of martyrdom has reappeared due to an increasing interest in religious conflicts.


In autopoiesis, there is no separation between what we do and the particular way in which the world appears to us.


Where state sovereignty as theology would have subjected groups accept their condition with its attending violence and suffering, the micro sovereignty I propose here – not merely as a futuristic idea, but more as a reflection on how subjected groups have dealt with subjection – invites us not to accept that violence and suffering, but to find creative ways out of it through the cracks of Empire.


Abolition is a process of imagining alternatives to the settler colonial, carceral present; it requires modes of kinship and care to replace prisons and policing.

Gratuitous Violence

Signifying a critical homology between the fields of Black studies and political theology, gratuitous violence is an important keyword for interrogating how religio-political concepts can afford unique insights into issues of slavery, race, and the human which continue to inform our world today.  


Asian American literary criticism’s analysis of contemporary orientalisms centered around the figuration of Asian subjectivities reminds political theologians that unconscious (white) fear and fascination with the Orient still guides political and theoretical engagement with the Asian “other.”


Thing as concept can be helpful to elucidate the specific yet ambiguous interaction of the religious and the political. Using recent thingly theoretical work within these two spheres, with an emphasis on body and shape, I will suggest ways through which thing (and things and thingness) both clarifies and challenges that interaction.


Diaspora might be a problem for political progressives for the very reason that it is so alluring. Diaspora promises both freedom and connection: freedom from national borders or the essentialisms of race and language, connection between people who affirm shared memory and heritage.
But heritage is never really free.


If there is one thing that can be said about blackness, it is this: blackness is unruly.

Black Reason

Black reason is propelled by a fantastic imaginary, a changeling animus that aggregates and transmogrifies the desires and fears of whiteness.

Racial Capitalism

The historical and theoretical relationships between race and capitalism are internally contested and in need of further exploration from theologians and scholars of religion.


Sometimes referred to as “population control,” other times “better breeding,” eugenics has been seen as a religious solution to social ills, and sometimes a new religion unto itself.


Gilroy’s “planetary humanism” contributes to political theology by offering more than a critique: in his work, humanism is a starting point, a concept to guide multicultural political projects today.


Official responses to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic have encouraged us to understand risk in individual terms. They’re wrong: risk is all about interdependence.

Food Sovereignty

Food sovereignty represents a refusal of a globally commodified food system in favor of systems and institutions that support self-sufficient communities.


Doxa is a term used in sociology to contend with belief and orthodoxy without reducing either to behavior or cognition. It explores disposition and embodied belief—the gut sense of the world which is acquired through practice rather than discourse.

Settler Colonialism

I propose Decolonial Settler Theology as a contextual political theology that is uniquely the task of the settler, who must face their own complicity in narratives of ongoing colonization and aim at their undoing.


In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?


This essay takes taboo as a critical term to trace the history of our modern present and as a conceptual companion with which to think through the complex entanglement of the ethical, the theological, and the political.


What is still nascent… is an explicit conversation between political theology and critical theories of affect, particularly in a way that might contribute to constructive projects. The sort of political theology that might emerge from such collaboration would consider how affective regimes intersect with theological constructions or religious performances.


While kinship has traditionally held a vibrant conceptual life in anthropological inquiry, more recent studies on kinship as a form of spiritual relationality have opened up a new space of interdisciplinary exploration for political theology.


The modern state form itself is inextricable from the commandement, not just as an emblem for sovereignty in Schmitt’s sense, but also because the exemplary political form of modernity, the nation-state, has racist and exclusionary tendencies that can be understood as political-theological transfers of monotheistic principles.


That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.


The conversation about nature’s personhood and rights is always political, often legal, and sometimes theological. Most importantly, it is a localized conversation about the boundaries of a given community – who is part of the community and who isn’t.


For political theology, we might find ourselves compelled by practices that seek to connect us with our ecologies, our communities, and our relations with ourselves – in ways that are more about humility and provisionality than finding cures or solutions.


Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.


If theorizations of care are to more directly address the current “crisis of care,” we need not only to prioritize the kinds of embodied, particularized care that care ethics has highlighted in the past, but to explore a wider range of caring relationships and their diverse structures.


A preliminary question for political theology is how to understand the meaning and significance of matter. The response to this question shapes how a political theology does or doesn’t engage political economy and theological tradition.


The triangulation of money, sovereignty, and divinity is a good point of entry to study the mutual constitution of theological and political concepts and the questions about ultimate value and social form that they raise.


Refusal is a strong current resisting the structure of settler colonialism. It crashes, churns, and erodes the death-dealing dams of settler knowing. Its path turns away from the settler’s gaze.


Seva lends itself to easy appropriation across political and religious contexts, while also furnishing mutually intelligible tropes of service, welfare, and social betterment.


Political theology intimately understands that given reality teems with forms of life that remain opaque to us.


Spillers, Cheng, and Halberstam provide us with tools to approach the histories of violence, economics, relationships, desires, and contestation that infuse our experiences with flesh in its multiplicity. Flesh is never neutral.


It is not always possible (or advisable) to separate the “political” from the “religious” or “cultural” in Indigenous contexts. Indeed, all of these are concepts developed by outsiders to describe Indigenous life. Instead, Indigeneity invites scholars of political theology and related fields to consider the relationships between these threads of cultural life.


As we watch the illusion that was Man fall apart, we also see these more-than-human worlds that Man called “animal” disrupting and revealing the cracks and fractures in his own divine intentions.

Temporality I: History

William Apess, like Walter Benjamin a century later, sought to shift the paradigms of society with history and theology as orienting poles for colonial critique. Anticipating Benjamin, Apess looked to those who had been wrecked by the advance of colonialism as the grounding site for historical and political theological inquiry.

Temporality II: Futurity

Both Benjamin and Apess discern that historical narratives are imbricated with notions of futurity, that is, which bodies and polities are allowed to inhabit and thrive within the temporality in which the “not yet” and the “always already” co-constitute each other.


In this short essay, written from my perspective as a Jewish feminist, I draw together a plurality of engagements with natality to engender new conversations in political theology.

Critical Race Theory

CRT is a framework or an approach to understanding the way racism is foundational to systems of judicial, political, social, cultural, religious, and theological power.


[S]ituating demonology more fully in its religious and theological contexts furnishes resources that not only nuance understandings of movements for whom demonization is central, but also recontextualize discussions of core political theological concepts, including sovereignty, power, economy, subjectivity, and freedom.


From Myanmar to Mariupol, from the streets of Memphis to the waves and winds of the Mediterranean Sea: resistance to violence takes many forms. So does political protest against precarity. At which point does the unavoidable vulnerability of the living condition come to expression as political agency? Can such precarious politics constitute or configure an alternative community?

Hunger Strike

“Instead of neatly separating the forms of resistance to biosovereignty into life-affirming struggles and necroresistance and mapping them (and life and death) onto the reform/revolt dichotomy, I suggest that we conceive life and death as relational rather than oppositional categories. For every differentiation and intensification of death creates new possibilities of life; and every differentiation and intensification of life entails experiences of “death” that cannot be reduced to the power of one’s death.”

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