Is Gender Necessary? Hell No!

We had a Human Sexuality seminar at school this weekend. It was good to see the priests and nuns and other future ministers of the church recieving scientifically sound, sex-positive education. Part of it, though, really irked me. We were talking about, you know, how sexuality includes gender and identity and how all of that impacts on how we relate to others, and all of a sudden there's this slide up with a list of male and female qualities. You know, women are into social relationships, men are into hierarchical positions. Women want to be listened to, men want to solve problems. (This one particularly irked me as I'm often being tasked for jumping in with solutions, and I have a good female friend who's even more so. (Me: "Geez, I feel so bad I haven't sent so-and-so's present yet." Her: "Oh! Well, send it today."))

Now, granted, my friends are weird, but we aren't that broadly unusual. Since I've got example after example of folks who don't fit these broad generalizations (men who want to be listened to, women who prioritize rules over individuals, women who bond by doing and men who bond by talking, &c) I can only imagine that anyone who genuinely believes these things to be true of most of the human family has a stake in that belief so strong it's affected their worldview. The position of that stake doesn't have to be "I hate men," or "Aren't those women sweet little things." It could be "My sisters and I are at last winning acceptance," or even "Though myself a man, I am comfortable saying positive things about women." Heck, it could just be "I am a person who does well with categories."

This is lazy psychology, but as theology, it's even worse. If you have no problem with going around proclaiming that women are less competitive, more person-oriented, consensus-inclined and values-driven than men (oh yes, I read my Carol Gilligan), then listen: you're saying that women are inherently, by their very nature, more capable of expressing Christian values than men are. Men get the math skills, but we get the sanctity. Well-intentioned, at some point back there a few, futile steps ago, but wrong-headed, dangerous and completely unacceptable.

Categories are comfortable; they make us feel smart. They are also an unacceptable foundation on which to build any brand of theology. Looking at a person as merely a member of one or more groups shuts us off from the brave brand of interaction that remains open to transformation, that allows us to see the uniquely distinct, radically equal presence of God in every individual.

I predict we'll one day look at these "innate" gender descriptions as no more than a late gasp of the personality test craze. It's real easy to create a list of vague traits that arguably coexist but that can never be predicted in a given individual or related to how someone's expected to act in the world. (Quick: are you a Type A or a Type B?) We think of personality tests as magazine and self-help stuff, but fifty years ago they were psychologically hot, all up in the big science journals and stuff. This, my friends, is why we can't base our God-practice on psychology. Our own experience, and that of the people we serve, deserves a place in theological method. And I can't imagine that anyone who gives her own experience at least equal credence to the latest John Gray book would choose to reduce the blazingly diverse human world into a tired punchline: "There are [only] two kinds of people . . . "

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A Franciscan invited a few of us back to the friary for lunch during the seminar, and somehow, among five celibates and one single laywoman, the conversation turned to parenting issues. When I mentioned that my father took time off to help raise me--"but that was in the eighties," in a better job market than today's parents enjoy--one brother gave me a fascinated look. "Wow," he said, "You must be the youngest person at this school!" Since all the other young'ns I know took at least a year or two off since college, we determined that yeah, I probably am.

Theologienne composes another trenchant and deeply spiritual blog post.

I don't mind being the young one. It makes me comfortable with asking out-there questions or dumb ones. It sometimes gives me the not unpleasant aspect of campus pet. (Not teacher's pet--I mean, like, a cat.)

"What are the four main steps in Lonergan's approach to method?"
"Cookie?"

And I'm lucky to feel like I have all the time I could possibly have to figure out how to use my skills to fight for the Church we deserve. Many of my classmates show up with whole portions of their lives behind them: leaving marriages for religious life or vice versa, fleeing a lucrative and soulless job, finally contextualizing a life of ministry or struggling to integrate faith into an established secular situation. My stories, in contrast, are mostly ahead of me. Wherever I go on my next big step, and the next and the next and the next, I'll be taking my Theologienne-ness with me. That's enough to add a certain confidence to your step--even if, at 22, mine's really more of a toddle.