Hanna Reichel. After Method: Queer Grace, Conceptual Design, and the Possibility of Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2023), 225 pp. $40.00 (paperback).

In After Method: Queer Grace, Conceptual Design, and the Possibility of Theology, Hanna Reichel, the newly appointed Charles Hodge Chair of Systematic Theology at Princeton Theological Seminary, confronts a pressing reality: theology is in crisis and “has been for a while” (1). Across our diverse social, political, and economic landscapes, myriad forms of “bad theology” have become deeply entangled with the violence of our world. This entanglement has led many to question not only the relevance but the very necessity of theology in a contemporary context where it often appears both complicit in and generative of such violence.

Reichel’s work serves as a sobering reminder that theology’s future hinges on a crucial reconceptualization of its role that begins at the level of methodological practice and commitments. Reichel argues that the path forward for theology lies not in attempting to redeem or justify itself against modern critiques through method but in surrendering this desire. Reichel proposes a “desoteriologized” practice of theological method (248). This approach conceives of method after method by acknowledging theology’s limits, namely its susceptibility to sin and need for God’s grace. Reichel contends this grace is not just a theological concept but the condition that makes theology possible. 

Reichel structures their argument along three parts, carefully modeling After Method’s structure with Martin Luther’s articulation of the threefold uses of the law. Just as Luther defined the law as a mirror, curb, and guide, Reichel posits that one must understand theological method in a similar tripartite manner. In this regard, theological method serves as a tool for curbing its users from “bad theology,” as a mirror of one’s sinfulness, and thus a guide toward kenotic solidarity with others. In short, method serves as a means to certain ethical ends. Such a construal dislodges method from a salvific or redemptive authority position into a provisional state of pragmatic use. Method, here, is understood not as the source of redemption or justification for the theologian but as a means through which she can grasp the finitude of theology as a discourse and discipline toward the pursuit of better theologies.

Parts 1 and 2 explore the first and second uses of the law of method in its functions to 1) curb the theologian from “bad theology” and 2) be a mirror of her finitude in the task of theology. In these opening chapters, Reichel brings together two seemingly unlikely interlocutors to demonstrate the possibility of a shared theology “after method”: the queer liberationist Marcella Althaus-Reid and the dogmatic systematician Karl Barth. Reichel reveals a surprising convergence in their theological pursuits by juxtaposing these influential yet divergent thinkers. While both respond to their respective contextual concerns and employ different theological methodologies, Reichel demonstrates a shared, common end between both thinkers. They reveal the limits of theological language to grasp both divine and human realities properly and the very impossibility of the theologian’s craft without the intervention of God’s grace. In this way, both Barth and Althaus-Reid reveal a “theological realism” that seriously considers theology’s impossibility to redeem itself from its own sin. Hence, as an often repeated refrain throughout the text, Reichel contends, “Method cannot save us.”

In this way, Part 3 centers around a third use of the law of method—law as a guide—that addresses the possibility of theology after method. Here, conceptual design theory is crucial in imagining “the end of redemption and the beginning of ethics” (153). Doctrine, in this case, is qualitatively judged according to the potential of its usefulness. In the same way that architects design and construct buildings to serve specific purposes and enhance user experiences, the nature of doctrine grants particular “affordances” that suggest the subject’s specific and possible uses. Reichel understands doctrine as provisional, contextual, and material and, thus, best evaluated on how well it best serves the purposes of its conceptual architecture. In this way, Reichel’s argument for theologies “after method” is not necessarily the rejection of method but a reconceptualization of method not as the locus of God’s redemptive work in the world, but as a means of curbing the theologian’s craft from bad theology, mirroring the finitude of the theologian’s own, and guiding the theologian toward God’s grace that conditions the very possibility of theology to even be.

This well-designed structure enables Reichel to delve into the intricacies of method, illuminating its multifaceted nature as a force that simultaneously constrains, reveals, and directs theological inquiry. By rethinking method as a form of “law” that informs and shapes the theologian’s craft, Reichel prompts readers to reevaluate the role and function of method in theological discourse. This reframing sets the stage for Reichel’s central proposal: to reconceptualize method not as an end but as a tool through which one pursues specific ethical concerns. In this context, Reichel revisits the often contentious debates between systematic/dogmatic and constructive/liberationist theologians. These groups have traditionally viewed each other as adversaries, frequently dismissing the “other camp” as perpetrators of bad theology. By applying their nuanced understanding of method, such as in the cases of Barth and Althaus-Reid, Reichel seeks to bridge this divide, suggesting that these seemingly opposed approaches might find common ground and mutual enrichment through alternative uses of method toward solidarity, or more precisely, kenotic solidarity that sacrifices the desire to save one’s theology through method by attending instead to the provisionality of theology that affords possibilities for belonging across lines of theological and disciplinary difference. By embracing this, Reichel’s work opens up new opportunities for theological engagement that are more humble, honest, realistic, and ultimately more attuned to the possibility of doing better as theologians; hence, After Method proves to be a valuable work for both the scholar or seminarian who is ever curious about the possibility of theology to still have any meaning in a world where theological discourse remains in crisis. In this context, After Method bears witness to the grace that breaks into such a crisis, opening up possibilities for the theologian’s craft and the methods we employ to make sense of such grace.

Yanan Rahim N. Melo, Editorial Assistant, Center for Barth Studies, Princeton Theological Seminary.