Today is the day feminists all over the world scream the usual nonsense about a fake “parity” that betrays the very essence of femininity.
Happily, this 2017 appears different from the more recent ones. Chewbacca is not the First Lady anymore, and we see timid signs of the rejection of aggressive “femancipation” calls. The new First Lady recites the Our Father at her husband’s rallies. Long may it last.
For Catholics, the matter of emancipation is fairly simple:
Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord.
Hhmmm…. St Paul on the one side, the secular culture on the other side. I wonder who is right?
We live in times of pernicious mixing of secular and religious values. For nineteen centuries, Christians have felt no need for “emancipation”. At some point, though, the movement gained such traction that it became ingrained in the Western way of thinking. So much so, that even decent Catholics thought it obligatory to reconcile the differences.
It does not work, because St Paul and the Suffragettes (and their descendants) are in fundamental opposition to each other.
It is no coincidence that the Lord, through St Paul, commands different roles for men and women, at the same time as the Church has never ever denied same dignity and importance to women. There are no differences in what souls are. There are differences in the way they are supposed to work together for their own salvation and the salvation of their children and loved ones.
One hundred plus years of logical derailment have now put us in front of what happens when we ignore the way life is supposed to be organised. The shifting of the measure of dignity (from having dignity in one’s own role to only having dignity if allowed to parrot men) has engendered a rebellion that starts with suffrage and ends with sexual promiscuity, contraception, abortion, mass divorce (in the West, very largely initiated by women), mass single parenthood and, crucially, massive divorce rape of men, with the subsequent unwillingness of the latter to contract a bond that can see them ruined and deprived of house and children at their wives’ calling. The latest trend is for the emancipated, divorcing wife to immediately accuse the husband of rape and/or violence: it makes it easier to get house and children, you see.
The so-called International Women’s Day is the International Women’s Betrayal Day. It is the day when the progressive self-destruction of femininity is celebrated as an achievement, and a further injection of testosterone into Western women is demanded as fitting and long overdue. Less Our Father, more Chewbacca.
Reject the mentality en bloc. Be a counter cultural “agent for change”. Proclaim in your circle of influence the right of the man to be the head of the woman, and the right of the woman to be led by her man. Assert the utter superiority of the traditional system, that did not produce anywhere near, anywhere near the amount of utterly miserable women we see around us today.
I know that, because my life experience straddles what seem to me now two different planets: the traditional Italian societies of pre-female suffrage (represented by the army of grandfathers, grandmothers, grand-aunts, and grand-uncles I had around me as a child) and the utterly unbelievable world I live in today, a world that would have had those grand-aunts heartily laughing in disbelief at the immense stupidity and absurdity of it.
That perfectly absurd world is now everyday reality. I see all those wretches around me every day. The wrinkled colleague in her Fifties talking to you about her “boyfriend”, who at some point will abandon her like every other man before him, and with good reason. The single mother desperately looking for a companion, and giving her body to a number of sub-prime or third-rate males she will likely never manage to persuade to marry her. The young woman already sampling a number of pricks higher than her ten female ancestors together: an experience devastating and soul-ravaging in the long term, utterly unsuited to the female nature, and disqualifying her as marriage material for any quality man. Up to the most benign case, the poor mother labouring under a huge strain, and forced to have two jobs (mother and office worker) and a long commute, because “emancipation”. Enjoy that train ride, ma’am, whilst you suffer at knowing that your children see their mother at 6:30 PM. You wanted to be “independent”, n’est-ce pas?
My grandmothers and grand-aunts lived in the middle of children. They all wished to marry and be the women of one man, but even those to whom the grace of a husband and children was not given were happy in their abandonment to providence, could care for the children of the enlarged family, had time to laugh and cry and be real women rather than caricatures of men, and were an important part of a large family fabric that was all-sustaining and all-absorbing. They were fully women, and lived a life far more fulfilling than the modern office slave will ever imagine. And they lived and died in the fear of the Lord, which coloured all the rest.
I see all those wrinkled women with “boyfriend” around me, and reflect that all this started with the oh so celebrated “suffragettes”.
Who, between you and me, must have been first-class bitches all right.