This summer, as part of my involvement in a Christian apologetics group, I gave a talk on modern issues in human sexuality. In a bar.
As nerve-wracking as it was to plan a presentation that would connect with the general public, the population of the bar that night, and the pastor and elders of my church, I realized I could address all issues likely to come up with the simple premise that “male” and “female” are not social constructs, but rather determinable identities which are crucial to our humanity.
And so they are. As I explained over limp pita chips and German beer that night, “male” and “female” are not descriptions of lifestyle or vehicles for expressing individuality. “Male” and “female” are descriptions of collaborative, productive creative capacities and roles – reproductive roles.
A man is a person with a body designed for the creative capacity to sow or seed life, a woman is a person with a body designed for the creative capacity to incubate life.
This means that whether in the prime of fertility, or too young, old or sick for reproduction, we can look at our bodies — the indentation of a woman’s waist, her breasts, the depth of a man’s voice or the broadness of his shoulders, and understand that humans are not primarily consumers but producers – not defined by isolation but by collaboration. We have a creative relationship with the land, ourselves, and each other.
To define maleness or femaleness as anything less is to make it too slippery to hold – and so it now is. Male and female are quickly warping into products for consumption instead of tools of production — synthetic hormones, silicone ornamentation, hairstyle and makeup.
I explained this all so that I could explain the Christian stance against “Transgenderism” and homosexuality – that those identities represent the unravelling, the reversal of the creativity and collaboration we were meant to participate in.
Where the thread began to pull, however, was with non-creative sex.
For most of human history, “non-creative sex” was an oxymoron. Of course sex was creative, give it a whirl and you’d soon find out! It’s only been since contraception entered the scene quite recently that sex could ever be a tool primarily for consumption instead of production.
That’s a problem, of course. Using the parts of our body that were meant for creativity with each other for consumption of each other instead may seem like a cool “hack” — but it’s dehumanizing, and beyond that, it’s the first stage of Transgenderism.
Yes – I said it, engaging in non-creative sex is the first stage of Transgenderism. It’s where your identity as male or female starts to slide away – where the creative sexual identity you were born with is chemically or prosthetically quieted for the sexual consumerism that beckons instead.
That’s all Transgenderism is. Sexuality as a product. Sexuality as a choice, an individualistic pursuit.
It’s not black and white. I’m not actually against birth control – I take it! For me, birth control is a tool that heightens my sexual collaboration with my husband and our productivity – it helps us guide the “production schedule”, as it were, for maximum creative benefit.
Nor does all sex have to literally result in a baby to be creative – the sex a couple has in the newlywed years, while they’re still getting to know each other – that can be creative by building the bond that will one day blossom into a parenting partnership, and sex post-fertility can certainly be creative as well – a celebration of collaborative roles, even as they fade.
You don’t have to have creative sex to be human, to be healthy in your maleness or femaleness. In some cases, the wait for the right collaborator is the most sexually creative thing you can do. Sometimes, people may want to use their bodies, lives and relational capacities to engage other types of creativity in such a focused way that sexual creativity isn’t simultaneously possible – that’s alright.
What’s not healthy or human is non-creative sex –- that is, habitually engaging sexuality with a consumerist, self-focused mindset, aided by chemicals or latex prosthesis.
That’s Stage I Transgenderism. Be careful pulling up the anchor of what your own body tells you about who you are – you don’t know how far you’ll drift away.