When God is neither he, she nor it, but a feeling

The quite incredible stupidity of the vapid ultra-feminists is sometimes mind-boggling . . . but it's always reliably entertaining.  Consider feminist spirituality.

“Ecofeminist Spirituality” is a senior-level course taught by Dr. Frodo Okulam, and primarily aims to explore “different forms of ecofeminist spirituality” including “feminist biblical interpretation” as well as “goddesses and spirituality.”

“The insight of Ecofeminism is that the oppression of women and the exploitation of the earth are related,” Okulam told Campus Reform, adding that “in its least radical form…it would use existing laws to reform our relationship with nature.”

But Okulam also teaches students about other variations of ecofeminism. In a handout she often provides to students, for instance, she explains that there are Socialist Ecofeminism, Radical Ecofeminism, and Spiritual Ecofeminist schools of thought.

The most radical of these, she says, is Socialist Ecofeminism, which “would end the domination of women and nature inherent in the capitalist economy’s exploitation of both” and “transform the structure of power itself.”

. . .

The last time the class was offered, in Fall 2016, students explored topics such as “What is sacred to me, etc?” as well as “How do I envision the relationships among humans, the earth, and the divine or sacred?”

Selected readings included Gaia and God: An Ecofeminist Theology of Earth Healing, Gay and Gaia: Ethics, Ecology, and the Erotic, and The Legacy of Luna: The Story of a Tree, a Woman, and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods.

There's more at the link.

Ethics, Ecology and the Erotic?  I suppose that's possible, if one can be ethically turned on by ecology . . . just beware of splinters from the redwoods one's saved!

This nonsense reminds me of a retreat in which I participated in the early 2000's.  The retreat mistress, a nun, invited us to consider ourselves as musical instruments, and imagine that God was playing us.  She asked us to share, individually, what instrument we were, and our reactions.  My response didn't seem to satisfy her.  I said, "I am a flute.  Blow me!"

The rest of that meditation session was a failure, punctuated by hostile stares from the ladies (?) and irrepressible periodic outbreaks of giggles and snorts from the men.  I know, I know . . . I'm clearly an irredeemable male chauvinist - no, I can't be a pig, because that would be species appropriation.  Just call me whatever.  It won't worry me.




Peter