“After premiering at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, where Gainsbourg won the festival’s award for Best Actress, [“Antichrist”] immediately caused controversy, with critics generally praising the film’s artistic execution but strongly divided regarding its substantive merit…The ecumenical jury at the Cannes festival gave the film a special ‘anti-award’ and declared the film to be ‘the most misogynist movie from the self-proclaimed biggest director in the world’.  Cannes festival director Thierry Frémaux responded that this was a ‘ridiculous decision that borders on a call for censorship’ and that it was ‘scandalous coming from an ecumenical jury’.”^[1]

“The Ecumenical Jury (French: Jury Œcuménique) is one of three juries at the Cannes Film Festival…The award was created by Christian film makers, film critics and other film professionals.  The objective of the award is to ‘honour works of artistic quality which witnesses to the power of film to reveal the mysterious depths of human beings through what concerns them, their hurts and failings as well as their hopes.’”^[2]  Given that objective I tend to agree in part with Thierry Frémaux that labeling Antichrist “the most misogynist movie” was a “ridiculous decision.”  But I still asked myself, was it misogynist?

A blurb from “Gynocide: Hysterectomy, Capitalist Patriarchy, and the Medical Abuse Of Women” by Mariarosa Dalla Costa, read: “How much of contemporary medical practice still derives from a practice rooted in the witch-hunts that plagued Europe from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century, and burned at the stake, after horrible torture, hundreds of thousands of midwives and healers along with other poor women — the greatest sexocide in recorded history?  Women’s bodies and their medical knowledge were burned on those stakes to be replaced by a male “science” and a male gynecological profession controlled by the state and church.”^[3]

From that perspective perhaps her defection from her thesis on gynocide in a story written by a man could be viewed as misogynist.  But she was far and away the more sympathetic character in my opinion.  He was at best a tool of male dominated “science,” and at worst the perpetrator of the very violence Mariarosa Dalla Costa decried.  I can reach no definitive conclusion, even in my own mind.  What was important to me was what the film brought to my attention about me.

I already mentioned how I repressed my own feelings and realized that my wife at least should know them and my reasons for acting contrary to them.  Another thing “Antichrist” brought to my attention (or perhaps I should say, the Lord brought to my attention through viewing and considering the film) was that despite the Scripture and my own experience I still harbor a romantic notion that there is some innate goodness in women that desires and pursues love (ἀγάπη)^[4] over power, property and prestige.

Except for organized sports (and disorganized sports where I was socialized by peers), I was socialized by women.  They all believed themselves to be morally superior to men.  “You’re just like your father,” was not the way my mother expressed her approval of me.  But “Antichrist” compelled me to stare down my socialization and acknowledge the fact that a woman who rejects the grace of God in Jesus Christ and his credited righteousness is as lost as any man.

I was prepped for this by its inverse in the “Twilight” series.  Talking with a female coworker I mentioned that I understood why young men didn’t like the movie.  While female sexuality personified by Bella was all sweetness and light, male sexuality personified by Edward and Jacob was portrayed as dark and dangerous and evil.  “That’s kind of hard on young men,” I said.

“Because it’s so true,” she replied.

I said, no, I didn’t think it was true, but it got me thinking about my upbringing.  I learned that my only interest in females was to fuck them from women.  That’s partly true because I shunned boys or men who felt or talked that way about girls or women.  But my own feelings that she was pretty, or that I liked to hear her voice, or that we shared interests and liked to talk to one another were completely brushed aside for the occult truth that I wanted to fuck her.  And this was at a time in my development before I knew what fucking was, or, later, before I had overcome my childish aversion to fucking as silly, embarrassing and mildly disgusting.  But the only way I could be kept from fucking her was to have no friendships with girls when young, and no unchaperoned associations with young women when older.

God help the first woman who finds herself alone with a man socialized like this!  And, no, I didn’t rape her.  I did keep her out way too late—talking.  I had a lot of lost time to make up for.  But I didn’t have a clue that my desire to talk rather than fuck was the ἐγκράτεια^[5] of the Holy Spirit.  I don’t recall knowing anything about the fruit of the Spirit at sixteen, though it’s hard to imagine that I hadn’t heard of it at all in a fundamentalist church.

I certainly didn’t understand that ἐγκράτεια (and love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness^[6]) was formed in me by the Holy Spirit as mysteriously as a new human life is formed inside a woman.  I wouldn’t have made that sexual connection at all.  I thought self-control was something I did to prove my love for God, not something He did because He loves me (not to mention the women who crossed my path).  Or if I telescope back in time something I know I learned later, I thought ἐγκράτεια was something I had to earn by doing other religious deeds to prove my love for God.  Simply trusting Jesus’ Father for my daily bread of life was a long time coming.

There is another piece to all of this.  In my mid-twenties grappling with faith intellectually for the first time as an adult, I was troubled by “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” Paul’s recounting in Romans 4:3 (NET) of Genesis 15:6, Abram believed the Lord…  Why?

I was too immature in my thinking to regard “my faith” as “my share in Christ’s faithfulness.”  I only thought of it as the new work I must do to inherit eternal life.  What was wrong (or right) with Abram that after years of empirical proof (and one scientific experiment with Sarai’s maid) to the contrary he still believed God’s promise that he would have an heir by Sarai (Sarah)?

The sermon the next Sunday was on Genesis 17.  God addressed Himself to Abram as El Shaddai.  The pastor explained briefly that El meant power.  Shaddai had at its root the word shad, the female breast.  The pastor went on with his sermon.  I was stuck right there—shocked!  God called Himself “Power Tit!?”  A “Mighty Boob!?”  I suddenly had a whole new appreciation for Woody Allen armed with a crucifix luring a savage breast into a giant bra in “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex.”  But it got my attention.

I was stuck there all afternoon, maybe for days.  I don’t actually remember.  Then, in a moment of weakness perhaps, when my religious guard was down, in my imagination I saw Abram, sweaty and spent, collapse on Sarai’s breast, resting there as if on a pillow, wondering, “could this be the time the promise of God would be fulfilled?  Will my wife’s breasts flow with life-giving milk to nourish my son?”

Then with fresh ears I heard God address Himself to Abram again as El Shaddai.  My hard heart was broken, tears flowed from my eyes, sobs and wailing erupted from my mouth as I understood that Abram believed God for the simplest reason of all.  No one would call so intimate a friend a liar to his face.

I wrote all this (minus the “Power Tit” and “Mighty Boob” part) in a letter to the pastor, part confession, part thanksgiving.  He answered my letter, writing that he used to teach the passage that way when he was younger, back East, but no longer, not in the conservative Midwest, not in a mixed congregation.  And I realized that the women of the congregation thought they were holier than God.

I wasn’t socialized by whores and prostitutes, but by wives.  And I’m old enough, from a blue collar religious background, that I think I’m safe to assume that most of their husbands were also virgins when they married, or married the woman they gave their virginity to.  These wives either had no intention to submit to their husbands in everything…as the church submits to Christ,^[7] or no clue that submission would include fucking or carry any sexual overtones.  They knew that their husbands wanted to fuck more than they did, and they knew that was evil, and they endeavored to purify their sons of that evil.  And I never met a believing man who stood up to them.