Loughlin, Gerard. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd.,
2004. 306 + xxx pp. $29.95 (USD). ISBN: 0-631-21180-2 (paper).
[1] In this dense theological study, Gerard Loughlin flies in the
face of many mainstream Westerners’ assumptions by asserting
that sex and Christianity are not inherently opposed but are, in
fact, a match made in heaven. Using popular film as a dialogue partner, Alien
Sex develops a daring new Christian body theology that defends
human sexuality—whether hetero- or homosexuality—as
the sphere of life where we encounter the divine most powerfully.
[2] Running as a connective thread through the book’s various
chapters is the metaphor of alien sex: a terrifying and intimate
act of congress with a being who is essentially Other. For Loughlin,
both our human relationships and our interactions with the divine
are characterized by a mysterium tremendum et fascinans that
results from our experience of distance and difference. In erotic
encounter lies the potential for this difference to be maintained
and known even in the act of connection. Sex with that which is
alien, then, provides the opportunity for us to know ourselves through
contrast. As Loughlin writes lyrically, “This is the possibility
of the membrane, of the tissue that separates and connects; the
communion of skin. It is the possibility of a desire that flows
between bodies; between two shots of a film, two lovers in a bed,
between creatures and their creator. It is the difference that unites;
the cut that connects” (xi). Erotic desire becomes the agent
of union, both human and divine.
[3] Loughlin’s view is politically far to the left of the
Christian majority today, but his argument is grounded in sources
that are central to the Christian tradition, particularly the writings
of Paul and Augustine. Despite this foregrounding of theology, however,
the book is omnivorous in both theoretical approaches and subject
matter. In addition to quoting liberally from the New Testament
and the Song of Songs, Loughlin draws on philosophers and cultural
theorists as diverse as Plato, Hume, Levinas, de Beauvoir, Metz,
Bataille and Zizek. Visual art such as Titian’s Noli me
Tangere and classic literary works like Dante’s Divine
Comedy are treated at length next to close readings of popular
films. To knowledgeably read Alien Sex requires not only
a graduate level education in cultural studies and theology but
also a thorough familiarity with Western popular culture. The book’s
provocative title is complimented on the cover by a sensuous still
from the science fiction film Barbarella. Although its difficulty
and commitment to the Christian tradition mark Alien Sex as
intended for an audience of theologians and students of theology,
its packaging helps to attract only those who also dare to drink
deeply of postmodern pop culture.
[4] Those who find Loughlin’s broad range of knowledge overwhelming
may still find themselves being carried along by the sheer energy
and creativity of his arguments. Alien Sex opens with a discussion
of the body and desire and a synopsis of the book’s approach. Part
two explores the connections between Plato’s cave, the cinema,
and the church, playing with these competing metaphors to speculate
whether truth is best found within or without these enclosures,
and exploring the connections between bodily desire and the gaze.
In the final section, Loughlin moves on to close readings of the Alien films, Breaking
the Waves, The Devils, and Interview with the Vampire. The
book closes with a christological exploration of desire and the
creation of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth, as well as a gentle
examination of the question of Jesus’ sexuality.
[5] Although the audience capable of fully appreciating Loughlin’s
wide-ranging cultural interests, his passionate championing of human
sexuality, and his firm foundation in Christian theology is a small
one, Alien Sex is a significant accomplishment in the field
of contemporary theology. Loughlin’s prose is dense but clear,
and his exposition of the films and related theological issues add
depth to the reader’s understanding of both. This is not a
text that distorts the messages of films in service of a theological
agenda, nor is it one in which theology bows entirely to culture.
Loughlin’s theology may be radical, but it is deeply committed
to the submerged but persistent current of sacred eroticism that
he finds in the Christian tradition.
Christine Hoff Kraemer
Boston University
chk@bu.edu
