When Le Français Refuses to Be Feminist: Will France Abandon Masculine Forms or Eternal Truths?

Foreword: A Question, Not an Answer

This text is not a manifesto, nor a refutation, but a meditation. It does not seek to condemn persons but to examine ideas. It proceeds not with certainty, but with the courage of questioning. For in a world saturated with ideologies—fluid, fixed, or fragmented—the watchman does not shout. He inquires. The subject of feminism and language, particularly in the context of French grammar, provides a paradox worthy of our highest contemplations. What is a noun's gender, and what does it mean when a society seeks to reshape it? What happens when identity wars are fought not just in courts and clinics, but in dictionaries and syntax? This article speaks to those with ears to hear—not to defend the past, nor to idolize tradition—but to awaken the logos, the divine order embedded within the very words we speak.

Introduction: When Grammar Becomes God

Language is not merely a tool; it is a temple. We dwell in it. As Heidegger wrote, "Language is the house of Being." But what happens when the architecture of that house is deemed oppressive? If grammar is gendered, must we un-gender grammar to emancipate society? To speak French is to live in a grammatical system where gender governs nearly every noun and adjective. The table is feminine; the book is masculine. Yet neither table nor book has flesh. These genders are not ontological, but grammatical—arbitrary, one might say. And yet they are consistent, persistent, and mysteriously resistant to change.

What does it mean when society demands that grammar submit to ideology? Is it possible that in our attempt to reprogram language, we are not liberating ourselves but alienating ourselves from something transcendent? In the Christian imagination, language is not neutral. In Genesis, God speaks creation into being. The Word becomes flesh (John 1:14), and salvation itself is mediated by utterance: "If you confess with your mouth... you will be saved" (Romans 10:9). Thus, to alter language is no trivial task. It is to touch the sacred. What is at stake is not simply pronouns or politeness. It is the structure of reality itself. Language, in its deepest form, reflects the Logos—reason, order, harmony, truth. To declare war on language is to declare war on the One who speaks it.

The Feminine Motion and the Masculine Form

Let us begin with grammar. French, like Latin, German, and Greek, assigns gender to its nouns. This is not a declaration of biological reality but a structure of linguistic form. Yet form, the watchman knows, is never without metaphysical consequence. Consider: why must "nation" be feminine and "government" masculine? Are these mere accidents of history, or do they encode an ancient intuition about receptivity and authority? Does the masculine govern and the feminine nurture—even in syntax? The feminist impulse challenges this. But what if the grammatical genders are not oppressions to be dismantled, but mysteries to be revered? Is the hunger to neuter language a rebellion against tyranny, or a refusal to accept difference? The modern mind, animated by the ideology of sameness, recoils at distinction. Yet creation thrives on difference—light from dark, water from land, male from female. Difference is not inequality; it is the symphony of Being.

Deconstruction vs. Design: Whose Logos Speaks?

Jacques Derrida argued that meaning is always deferred, that no word truly contains essence. Yet the Gospel of John declares otherwise: "In the beginning was the Word... and the Word was God." Who is right? Deconstruction teaches us to distrust language, to see it as a veil of power. But Scripture teaches that language reveals: it unveils truth, convicts hearts, and speaks life or death (Proverbs 18:21).

To deconstruct is to peel the onion until nothing remains. But God builds. He forms. He speaks. The voice of God in Eden calls out, "Where are you?"—not to accuse, but to restore. The feminist who seeks to dismantle the masculine bias in language is not just editing a textbook; she is proposing a new logos. But can a creature speak a better word than the Creator? Can we un-gender the utterance without silencing the One who speaks through it?

The Right to Name: Babel, Identity, and the Will to Speak

In Genesis 2, Adam names the creatures—not as a tyrant, but as a steward. Naming is a priestly act. It is relational, reverent, and responsible. But in Genesis 11, men gather at Babel to name themselves, to build a tower to heaven, to make a name for their own glory. God confuses their tongues. Today, the modern individual seeks to name oneself—pronouns, identities, realities. But is this act closer to Eden or Babel? Are we naming to reflect divine order or to usurp it? To say "I am they" is not a grammatical oddity; it is a metaphysical insurrection. Identity has become untethered from embodiment, and naming from nature. But what is the self that names itself apart from God? Is it not merely a shadow shouting into a void? He who calls himself sovereign over his own essence has dethroned God in his heart. In this, we repeat Babel—not to build a tower of stone, but of slogans.

Between Flesh and Grammar: Is Gender a Feeling or a Form?

"I feel like a woman," says the modern voice. But does feeling define being? Aristotle spoke of form and matter; Aquinas of essence and accident. Gender, in grammar and in life, may be a form—a pattern that orders perception. The soul is not self-creating; it is breathed by God. And the body, far from being a prison, is the theater of divine inscription. To say "I am" something other than what I am biologically, is to challenge not just society, but Being itself. Language reflects this challenge. A noun refuses to change its gender. Is this grammatical rigidity—or is it a protest of metaphysics against modern whim? What if gender is not merely a social contract, but a covenantal reality? The covenant of male and female was written into Eden—not as bondage, but as blessing.

When the Tongue Rebels: Can Language Be Non-Binary?

Attempts to un-gender French have led to linguistic chaos. The midpoint (le point médian), the emergence of "iel" (he/she), and the reinvention of endings do not clarify meaning; they multiply confusion. But is confusion merely inconvenience? Or is it spiritual entropy? When the serpent spoke to Eve, he did not propose violence but confusion: "Did God really say...?" (Genesis 3:1). The first rebellion was not in action, but in interpretation. To twist the word is to twist the world. A language without gender is a language without memory. It forgets the deep patterns that structure thought, love, and life. It cuts the cord between word and world.

Feminism’s Desire for the Sacred Feminine—But Which God?

In many feminist texts, there is a hidden longing for transcendence. Goddesses, the divine feminine, the reclamation of matriarchal myths—these are not mere metaphors. They are liturgies. Yet which god are we invoking? Sophia or Gaia? Aphrodite or Asherah? The desire for the sacred feminine is not wrong, but it is misdirected when it refuses the God who said, "Let us make man in our image... male and female He created them" (Genesis 1:27). Christ is not the erasure of gender, but the fulfillment of its meaning. The Bridegroom comes for His Bride. This is not patriarchy; it is prophecy. The LGBTQ+ movement, too, is a quest for transcendence—a theology of the self. It offers sacraments (pride), a liturgical calendar (June), and a gospel (be who you are). But its god is the mirror.

The Ethics of Uncreation: What Is Left When the Structure Dies?

If we tear down the grammar, what remains? A language without form is a noise. A culture without structure is a scream. Nietzsche warned that the death of God would bring the death of meaning. And indeed, without a Creator, all distinctions become constructs. Man and woman, noun and verb, truth and lie—they blur. Feminism untethered from theology becomes uncreation. It does not build Eden; it returns to the void. The LGBTQ+ ideology, though cloaked in compassion, denies the very architecture of being. A right is not a creation of man, but a gift of God. To say we have a right to redefine reality is to say we are gods. But shall the clay declare war on the Potter?

Silence as Resistance: Should Christians Speak or Stand?

When truth is punished as hate, what shall the faithful do? Socrates asked questions. Jesus answered with parables. Both were crucified by their age. Perhaps we too must learn to ask wisely, love deeply, and endure quietly. To respect man more than God is the first step toward apostasy. When laws contradict heaven, shall we obey Caesar over Christ? Must we affirm the pronouns of rebellion to be considered kind? Ours is not a war of flesh and blood, but of ideas, of language, of meaning. And our weapons are not slogans, but truth spoken in love.

Conclusion: The Return of Logos

In the end, this text offers no war cry, no policy, no platform. It offers a whisper: the Logos is still speaking. Let us not drown Him out with our syllables. "Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will never pass away" (Matthew 24:35). The wise will hear and turn. The proud will scoff and build Babel again. But the house of God stands firm.

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