Mary Nickel

The genre of fiction portraying worlds without men is over a century old – and growing. It reaches back to Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s 1910 Herland, through scores of utopias from second wave feminist writers like Joanna Russ and Suzy McKee Charnas to contemporary examples from Lauren Beukes and Sandra Newman. This article asks: if it were in fact possible to create a world without men, for what reasons should we pursue or forgo such a world? Those who have endured patriarchy’s cruelty have good reasons to want to institute such a world. However, I present a biblical warrant for rejecting that utopian vision derived from 1 Corinthians 11, where Paul writes that there is “no woman without man” (χωρὶς ἀνδρὸς, choris andros), and “no man without woman.” At the crux of a text that emphasizes the interdependence of God’s creatures, Paul reminds us that interdependence obtains across lines of sexual difference.

For the suffragists of the 19th century, women’s enfranchisement was a central goal. Yet the right to vote was not nearly as vital to the suffragists as the right to one’s own bodily freedom. Furthermore, as they saw it, bodily autonomy was a ‘sacred’ right: it was grounded theologically. Most concerning to the suffragists were the ways in which women of their time were forced against their will to become mothers. This article presents the suffragists’ theological grounds for resisting enforced motherhood. As I argue, doing so serves three purposes. First, it helps pro-choice Christians understand the ways in which their faith might support the defense of abortion access. Second, it foregrounds the political theological insights of the all too often overlooked suffragists. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it gives the lie to a widespread mischaracterization of the suffragists as would-be advocates of the contemporary anti-abortion movement.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Critical Piety: Our Urgent Need to Recover an Ancient VirtueMary Nickel (bio)But, you see, if you eats these dinners and don’t cook ’em, if you wears these clothes and don’t buy or iron them, then you might start thinking that the good fairy or some spirit did all that. They asked a little white girl in this family I used to work for who made her cake at one of her little tea parties. She said she made it and then she hid her face and said the good fairies made it. Well, you are looking at that good fairy. Black folks don’t have no time to be thinking like that. If I thought like that, I’d burn cakes and scorch skirts. But when you don’t have anything else to do, you can think like that. It’s bad for your mind, though.—Rosa Wakefield1There has been a lamentable trend, in the age since the Great Awakenings, to use the word “piety” as a synonym for “devoutness.” Piety, to the contemporary ear, conjures a sense of personal religious feeling and practice. For example, Saba Mahmood’s distinguished text, Politics of Piety, has as its theme the individual agency of women in Islamic societies. Meanwhile, untold books in the field of religious studies simply use “piety” as a stand-in for “religion.”2 This use of the term is not limited to the academic study of religion; recently, one liberation theologian has even demanded that we move, in the words of the title of his book, Beyond Piety.3 The thesis of that book rests on the premise that piety is altogether private, and insufficiently materially productive.4 [End Page 5]According to the ancients, though, piety is neither of these things. Piety, for Cicero, motivates the pious to “render kind offices and loving service to one’s kin and country.”5 As such, the ancient virtue of piety is fundamentally public, insofar as it pertains to one’s public tribute to her kin and fellow citizens. Furthermore, piety is productive, insofar as it motivates the pious to accomplish good things on behalf of her kin and fellow citizens. The ancient virtue therefore involves the near inverse of what the modern term suggests today.6 Where contemporary uses of the word “piety” are often preceded by the word “personal,” the ancients would have been bewildered by such a formulation.This essay does not dare try to account for how the ancient virtue of piety disintegrated to the point of becoming a matter of private religious practice. For those who are interested in that topic, many historians (and non-historians) offer various narratives to explain that trajectory.7 However, I will refrain from so doing. Instead, in what follows, I seek to illuminate the ancient virtue of piety, and show why we need so urgently to recover it. Piety, the ancients believed, is the virtuous act of acknowledging those things that make our lives possible.Furthermore, I will also update the ancient virtue, so to speak, to situate it in our modern context. That requires three substantial interventions. First, I show that piety must be comprehensive and even prospective. That is: not only ought we to be grateful for those who have made our lives possible up to and including the present moment, but we ought also to be grateful for those whose future work will sustain our continued wellbeing. Second, I show that piety must not only be symbolic or expressive, but also material. However, I do [End Page 6] not intend to neglect the importance of expressive piety. Third, I concentrate on the appropriate means for acknowledging those sources of our being that are not altogether (or at all) commendable. Finally, I offer some reflections on what this meditation on piety might tell us about contemporary American society, including two policy proposals regarding public education and paid family leave.I. Piety, Ancient and ModernPremodern Piety. It can take some effort to comprehend what pietas meant to the ancients, especially given the modern connotations associated with its contemporary English cognate. It takes even more to grasp how central this virtue...

According to Kristen Deede Johnson, Augustinian theology provides resources for overcoming debates about the consolidation or protection of difference in plural society. Johnson’s Augustine invites us to unite with others in loving and humble interactions with difference. I seek to further concretize the kind of communication that Johnson’s theology entails, putting it in conversation with Iris Marion Young’s theory of “communicative democracy.” Drawing on Willie James Jennings’s interpretive work on Pentecost in his magisterial commentary on Acts, I trace in the event of Pentecost a paradigm for communication between divergent communities that respects difference and underscores possibilities for union. The community born at Pentecost is comprised of divergent constituencies, and yet is nevertheless integrated by communicative practices. The paper invites reflection on how divinely granted visions might be translated into conversations that facilitate what Jennings calls “joining.”