“ Where man-made ethics differ most radically from female morality, from what women think and feel to be right and wrong, is precisely in this area where we need a new morality: the area in which men and women differ: the area of sexuality, of conception, pregnancy, childbirth, and the responsibility for children. I must admit that to me personally most of the rules men have made on these matters seem, if not simply irrelevant, disastrous. And yet we are still pretending that it's a "man's world," still letting that myth run us. And it's going to run us right into the ground.
I suppose a morality that arises from and includes the feminine will have to be invented as we go along. Rigidity and codification are exactly what we want to get away from, after all. But here—for it's so easy to talk about things like "a new morality" and so hard to show what one means—here, perhaps, is a suggestion of the kind of thing I and many, many others are groping towards. In her book Knowing Woman, Irene Claremont de Castillejo writes:
‘Woman, who is so intimately and profoundly concerned with life, takes death in her stride. For her, to rid herself of an unwanted foetus is as much in accord with nature as for a cat to refuse milk to a weakling kitten. It is man who has evolved principles about the sacredness of life ... and women have passionately adopted them as their own. But principles are abstract.... Woman's basic instinct is not concerned with the idea of life, but with the fact of life. The ruthlessness of nature which discards unwanted life is deeply ingrained in her.’
You see, she is trying to show how a woman's desire to have children, and to love and care for them, can be twisted all out of shape by ethical coercion, until it becomes a bondage, a hideous sentimental trap.
..,
That is not ethics. But it is morality.
If we can get that realistic feminine morality working for us, if we can trust in ourselves and so let women think and feel that an unwanted child or an oversize family is wrong—not ethically wrong, not against the rules, but morally wrong, all wrong, wrong like a thalidomide birth, wrong like taking a wrong step that will break your neck—if we can get feminine and human morality out from under the yoke of a dead ethic, then maybe we'll begin to get somewhere on the road that leads to survival.
Note (1988): Castillejo's statements still seem as strong as any I have read on this subject, but they do, in equating woman-mother with cat-mother, run the risk of implying that women are "natural," that their morality is "natural" or "instinctive" (and hence "lower" than that of "civilization," i.e., male-dominated society). I have found Carol Gilligan's In a Different Voice (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982) one of the most useful guides into the difficult area of the cultural determination and enforcement of differences between male and female moral perception.
***
We must all expect a few rude words from time to time; if we are either authors or critics, more than a few.
***
The view, where I sit writing this, is of frozen Klamath Lake, a sweep of bluish white, and the dawn-bright mountains above it—a picture postcard of Oregon winter. Ten minutes from now my view will be of fences zigzagging past farms among the snowy hills, a whole new postcard. And soon after that it will be great, solemn, snow-hung firs and the peaks and chasms of the Cascades. Because I'm sitting in Room 9, Car 1430, of the Coast Starlight, coming north to Portland. And the whole trip is beautiful.
President Reagan has decided he can do without Amtrak and has left it out of his budget. I suppose the last time Mr. Reagan rode a train was before I was born, and by now he probably doesn't know anybody who ever travels by train. He only knows Important Peo-ple, people whose time is money. Only unimportant people take trains. People to whom time isn't money, but life, their life lived and to be lived.
***
Because you are human beings, you are going to meet failure.
You are going to meet disappointment, injustice, betrayal, and irreparable loss. You will find you're weak where you thought yourself strong. You'll work for possessions and then find they possess you. You will find yourself—as I know you already have—in dark places, alone, and afraid.
What I hope for you, for all my sisters and daughters, brothers and sons, is that you will be able to live there, in the dark place.
***
Without it, all I can do is blunder on through the minefield. At once I step straight onto Gertrude Stein, and leap into the air.
‘Poetry is I say essentially a vocabulary just as prose is essentially not.
And what is the vocabulary of which poetry absolutely is. It is a vocabulary based on the noun as prose is essentially and deter-minately and vigorously not based on the noun.
Poetry is concerned with using with abusing, with losing with wanting with denying with avoiding with adoring with replacing the noun. It is doing that always doing that, doing that and doing nothing but that. Poetry is doing nothing but using losing refusing and pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns....
So that is poetry really loving the name of anything and that is not prose.’
That is a charming hand grenade, but the pin's missing, I think.
•••
Pursuing the Snark of definition through the fog, one comes upon a statement by Huntington Brown that is far more cautious, specious, and dangerous than Gertrude Stein's.
‘If it be asked wherein a poet's attitude toward his matter differs from that of a prose writer, my answer would be that in prose the characteristic assumption of both writer and reader is that the subject has an identity and an interest apart from the words, whereas in poetry it is assumed that word and idea are inseparable.’
This one ticks.
As a distinction of fantasy from realistic fiction, it would be of considerable interest, but as a distinction of poetry from prose it is very odd. I do not think Mr. Brown meant to imply that the subject or matter of poetry is unidentifiable and of no inherent interest, though he comes very near saying so; but there is in his definition an implication that cannot be avoided and should be made clear: It is the language that counts in poetry and the ideas that count in prose.
Corollary: Poetry is untouchable, but prose may be freely para-phrased.
This is indeed a very common assumption, shared by readers and writers alike: Mr. Brown is absolutely correct in that. But I question the assumption, which he does not.
***
Copernicus told us that the earth was not the center. Darwin told us that man is not the center. If we listened to the anthropologists we might hear them telling us, with appropriate indirectness, that the White West is not the center. The center of the world is a bluff on the Klamath River, a rock in Mecca, a hole in the ground in Greece, nowhere, its circumference everywhere.
***
With such fragments I might have shored my ruin, but I didn't know how. Only knowing that we must have a past to make a future with, I took what I could from the European-based culture of my own forefathers and mothers. I learned, like most of us, to use whatever I could, to filch an idea from China and steal a god from India, and so patch together a world as best I could. But still there is a mystery. This place where I was born and grew up and love beyond all other, my world, my California, still needs to be made. To make a new world you start with an old one, certainly. To find a world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.
***
Narrative is a stratagem of mortality. It is a means, a way of living.
It does not seek immortality; it does not seek to triumph over or escape from time (as lyric poetry does). It asserts, affirms, participates in directional time, time experienced, time as meaningful. If the human mind had a temporal spectrum, the nirvana of the physicist or the mystic would be way over in the ultraviolet, and at the opposite end, in the infrared, would be Wuthering Heights.
***
Anyone who knows J. T. Fraser's work, such as his book Of Time, Passion, and Knowledge, and that of George Steiner, will have perceived my debt to them in trying to think about the uses of narra-tive. I am not always able to follow Mr. Steiner; but when he discusses the importance of the future tense, suggesting that statements about what does not exist and may never exist are central to the use of language, I follow him cheering and waving pompoms.
When he makes his well-known statement "Language is the main instrument of man's refusal to accept the world as it is," I continue to follow, though with lowered pompoms. The proposition as stated worries me. Man's refusal to accept the world as it is? Do women also refuse? What about science, which tries so hard to see the world as it is? What about art, which not only accepts the dreadful world as it is but praises it for being so? "Isn't life a terrible thing, thank God!"says the lady with the backyard full of washing and babies in Under Milk Wood, and the sweet song says, "Nobody knows the trouble I seen, Glory, Hallelujah!" I agree with them. All grand refusals, especially when made by Man, are deeply suspect.
So, caviling all the way, I follow Mr. Steiner. If the use of language were to describe accurately what exists, what, in fact, would we want it for?
***
We cannot ask reason to take us across the gulfs of the absurd. Only the imagination can get us out of the bind of the eternal present, inventing or hypothesizing or pretending or discovering a way that reason can then follow into the infinity of options, a clue through the labyrinths of choice, a golden string, the story, leading us to the freedom that is properly human, the freedom open to those whose minds can accept unreality.
***
I was told as a child, and like to believe, that California was named "The Golden State" not just for the stuff Sutter found but for the wild poppies on its hills and the wild oats of summer. To the Spanish and Mexicans I gather it was the boondocks; but to the Anglos it has been a true utopia: the Golden Age made accessible by willpower, the wild paradise to be tamed by reason; the place where you go free of the old bonds and cramps, leaving behind your farm and your galoshes, casting aside your rheumatism and your inhibitions, taking up a new "life style" in a not-here-not-now where everybody gets rich quick in the movies or finds the meaning of life or anyhow gets a good tan hang-gliding. And the wild oats and the poppies still come up pure gold in cracks in the cement that we have poured over utopia.
***
Now, that's how animals talk! Ramsay Wood seems to lack faith in his material, to believe that it needs "brightening up" or "interpreting for the modern reader," as they say. It doesn't. It's good, strong stuff. It tastes a lot better without 7-Up.
***
Is Gender Necessary?" first appeared in Aurora, that splendid first anthology of science fiction written by women, edited by Susan Anderson and Vonda N. McIntyre. It was later included in The Language of the Night. Even then I was getting uncomfortable with some of the statements I made in it, and the discomfort soon became plain disagree-ment. But those were just the bits that people kept quoting with cries of joy.
It doesn't seem right or wise to revise an old text severely, as if trying to obliterate it, hiding the evidence that one had to go there to get here. It is rather in the feminist mode to let one's changes of mind, and the processes of change, stand as evidence— and perhaps to remind people that minds that don't change are like clams that don't open. So I here reprint the original essay entire, with a running commentary in bracketed italics. I request and entreat anyone who wishes to quote from this piece henceforth to use or at least include these reconsiderations. And I do very much hope that I don't have to print re-reconsiderations in 1997, since I'm a bit tired of chastising myself.”