Keywords

Prison Break

“To many feminists, androgyny has come to represent an escape from the prison of gender,” writes Mary Anne Warren (1982, 170); “that is, from socially enforced preconceptions of ways in which women and men ought to differ in their psychology and behavior.” The ideal of androgyny, “a sex-neutral standard of successful human development,” is championed by feminist proponents as a guide for individual men, women, boys, and girls, as well as reassessing and reorganizing social institutions (1982, 173). So conceived, we can see why those who are frustrated with masculinity and committed to feminist values might find androgyny compelling.Footnote 1

As we consider the appeal and limitations of androgyny as a feminist alternative to masculinity, with particular attention to its articulation among feminist philosophers in the late twentieth century, it is worth taking a moment to clarify what was meant (and not meant) by androgyny. Some had in mind what Joyce Treblicot (1977) called the polyandrogynist approach: that is, when traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine traits and roles are now available to all human beings without limitation or coercion. Each of us would be free to be however we like, gender be damned. While polyandrogyny so construed might promote individual autonomy, critics argued that it was far too sweeping to be a viable feminist ideal. For one thing, it would seem to count both toxic masculinity and the tyrannical femininity that Mary Wollstonecraft described and denounced as consistent with androgyny, so long as a person inhabits the persona in question freely rather than because of social enculturation and enforcement. It would be consistent with people exhibiting all sorts of vicious human character traits as long as such traits are no longer linked to gender. “The polyandrogynist approach is most appropriate with respect to ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ traits which are largely a matter of personal style and preference,” Warren (1982, 178) argued, “and which have little direct moral significance” (see also Timmons and Wasserman 1979).

One might consider instead a sort of maximalist ideal of androgyny, where individual humans and social institutions would exhibit all traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine traits. While this would deconstruct the masculine/feminine divide, if taken seriously it would also be unstable and internally incoherent. Masculinity need not be set in strict opposition to femininity, as Shira Tarrant (2009, 88) reminds us, but this does not mean all masculine and feminine traits can coexist either. As a feminist ideal, maximalist androgyny would have the same sorts of issues as polyandrogyny—arguably even worse, since it would not only permit but actively promote truly vicious masculine and feminine traits in individual humans and social institutions.

On the other end of the spectrum would be a uniform idealized androgyny, where all individual humans regardless of biological sex exhibit the same set of traditionally masculine and feminine traits. One might imagine a parallel sort of uniformity for social systems balancing masculine and feminine traits. This approach could avoid the amoral and anti-feminist implications of the previous two; it would also be meaningfully androgynous in promoting the same set of preferred traits regardless of gender. Unfortunately it would also collapse into the classic dystopian stereotype of an androgynous world without human psychological variation, where everyone thinks and acts exactly the same as everyone else.

For her part Warren was sympathetic to a sort of moral androgyny, wherein ideally masculine and feminine virtues are equally distributed and exhibited among human beings regardless of sex. Domestic, political, and other social institutions would be reorganized after this ideal: not to make everyone the same, nor to promote all things masculine and feminine as open to everyone, but to nurture masculine and feminine virtues in everyone. These virtuous character traits are not really masculine and feminine, of course—“not naturally, inevitably, or desirably the monopoly of either sex,” Warren (1982, 183–184) writes. “What is artificial is the notion that combining these diverse capacities is more difficult than separating them. This is exactly the myth that the feminist androgynists are attempting to destroy.”

James Sterba shares Warren’s enthusiasm for feminist androgyny so understood: as he puts it, “other things being equal, the same virtues are appropriate for everyone” (1996, 104). Furthermore, Sterba (1994) argues, explaining feminist justice in terms of the ideal of androgyny can help men to better appreciate its value. It means that feminist justice is not only a negative thing (dismantling male domination or undoing systems of oppression more generally) but also something positive, indeed something constructive. It offers men an ideal to strive for, a better way to be, for ourselves as individuals and for the social institutions that we must reform toward the creation of a gender-free society (1996, 106–107). Such institutions in need of radical restructuring include the family, childcare, education, work schedules, pay inequities, and legal and cultural systems that promote, condone, and ignore violence generally and against women specifically (1994, 177–181).

I Am (Refusing to Be) a Man

Sterba like Mill grounds his support for androgyny in his liberal feminism, but one need not be a liberal to challenge masculinity on feminist grounds. In Refusing to be a Man (1989), The End of Manhood (1993), and other writings, John Stoltenberg (2008, 2013) applies the insights and values of radical feminist philosophy to men’s lives.Footnote 2 His position is clear: manhood is not worth saving. Men and those whom we love would be better off without it: “all we know and recognize as ‘manhood’,” Stoltenberg insists, “cannot possibly coexist with authentic and passionate and integrated self-hood” (1993, xiv).

Why can’t manhood and masculinity be redeemed? For Stoltenberg, it is because being a man essentially requires us “to deny someone else’s selfhood–over and over again” (1993, 36). A man concerned with his manhood is concerned with what other men think of him, measuring himself against them and valuing their judgment more than his authentic self. Inhabiting the masculine self can be appealing, given our enduring emotional need for other men’s validation, but this manhood “I” is built on seeing and treating women as less than. It is both inauthentic and immoral because one cannot consistently make genuine ethical choices and submit to the imperatives of manhood, Stoltenberg argues (1989, 195, 1993, 307). “So long as we continue to try to act in ways that keep us still ‘men’, we are doomed to paralysis, guilt, self-hatred, inertia,” he writes. “So long as we try to act as men, in order to continue to be men…we doom women to injustice: the injustice that inheres in the very idea that there are two sexes” (1989, 185).

The good news is that we can resist. Manhood is a hoax and refusing to believe in it is an act of resistance to the injustice done in its name. Refusal, Stoltenberg says, “is a personal and political principle of revolutionary liberation beyond any amplitude we can now possibly imagine” (1993, 304). For someone raised to be a man, it is indeed possible to feel better about oneself—not by feeling better about being a man, but feeling better about oneself as a conscientiously living self. Stoltenberg returns to the challenge of how to live as “men of conscience” throughout his work. Sometimes he is rather pessimistic about this, reflecting on the ways that men of conscience too often focus on making themselves feel better, give into self-conscience paralysis, and otherwise prefer talk to action. At other times he is more optimistic that men of conscience can contribute to bringing about a world of gender justice.

The key claim is that we do not need masculinity in either its traditional patriarchal or revised forms. “Neither cooperation nor domination has to be embedded in gender, however. And really, there is no mandatory requirement for the labels ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ in the first place,” writes Matthew Gutman (2019, 238). “In the end, we do not need separate traits for masculine and feminine any more than we do for left-handers versus right-handers.” Like Stoltenberg, Gutman argues against the search for alternative masculinities—not because traditional masculinity itself is inevitable, but because these gendered concepts are unnecessary, artificial restrictions on how we understand male behavior. Thinking in terms of masculinity and femininity not only provides inadequate explanations of why human beings act as they do, Gutman says, it lets men off the hook and sells men short. Masculinity is an explanatory and agential crutch, without which we can then better understand and evaluate male behavior.

Stoltenberg and Gutman both see masculinity as an impediment to knowing one’s true, actually responsible self. On first reading, J.J. Bola seems to defend a similar view in his book Mask Off: Masculinity Redefined. “The mask that men have worn for decades, even centuries, has to be fully removed for us to see the true face that lies beneath,” Bola writes; “once we remove it, we will see that what lies beneath is a reflection of our true selves, however we choose to be” (2019, 118). But if masculinity is a mask, what exactly does it hide? Is the self that lies beneath it gendered? Bola explains:

Rather than there being a norm of manhood, people should have the openmindedness and understanding to realise that there are beautiful variations of manhood and masculinity, and that however a male identity might manifest, that does not make that person more or less of a man. (2019, 73)

Let us unpack this a bit. The metaphor of masculinity as a mask invites two reactions. The first is that masculinity is inauthentic, a façade to be removed, and when it is, then one’s true ungendered self previously hidden under the mask is revealed. So when the mask is thrown off, masculinity is thrown off. A second response embraces the mask as performance: our liberation is not necessarily about living mask-free but having the freedom to choose among many masks. Here the problem is not that a mask of masculinity hides the true self; the problem is that one mask has been forced on us. When the mask of hegemonic masculinity is thrown off, men are now free to wear other masks, free to perform other sorts of masculinity.

The vision of unmasking that Bola articulates is, curiously, both and neither of these. He urges us to remove the mask that men have long worn to see our true selves that lie beneath. This means we have true selves, which masks cover up. So when Bola also urges us to embrace the beautiful variations of manhood and masculinity that are possible, these are not new masks we wear instead of the old one. We remove the rigid, limited, one-size-for-all mask of hegemonic masculinity and the true selves beneath are also masculine, albeit more diversely so.

A Gender Reset?

Feminist philosophical scholarship these days is less likely to center around either androgyny or a radical repudiation of manhood and masculinity than in previous decades. A related contemporary phenomenon is the agnostic critical stance on masculinity. What will our future selves look like if—and when—we cast off the shackles of gender generally and patriarchal masculinity specifically? “I don’t know,” the agnostic says. “Can’t see it from here. Whatever it is, it will be better than this.” Better in what sense, however, if we cannot even begin to envision the anticipated and advocated alternative to masculinity? In his 2014 book Love and War, Tom Digby follows Harriet Taylor and John Stuart Mill in building epistemic humility into his feminist philosophy. “Who knows what gender will look like, or whether it will exist at all,” Digby asks, “when men are finally free of sacrificial masculinity and its gendered harm aimed specifically at men?” (2014, 149). Jared Yates Sexton (2019, 252) is likewise confident that patriarchal masculinity is a toxic lie that must be exposed and comparatively less confident about his predictions about what will or should come afterward.

What can be frustrating about this agnostic position is not so much its epistemic humility, the honest ignorance about the future of masculinity, but what we should do and how we should be in what Alison Jaggar (2019) calls the unjust meantime. The negative recommendations are clear: cut the cultural puppet strings, stop the cultural programming, and remove the mask of masculinity, the false face that the world tells us we are supposed to present. The agnostic admits that they do not really know what will happen afterward, if and when we individually and collectively have the courage to do this. “But of course saying ‘just let go of toxic masculinity’ to a man is like saying ‘just relax’ to a person having a panic attack,” Liz Plank observes. “Men will only break free from the masculinity trap when they have a safe alternative” (2019, 118).

Perhaps this is why even someone like Plank who advocates undoing gender at the same time feels compelled to offer a new vision of masculinity. Throughout her book, Plank affirms that she “strongly believe[s] in a world that goes beyond gender” (2019, 33). Against Susan Venker, Plank argues that to “question the ideal that idealized masculinity has instilled is not about telling men to act more like women or women to act more like men; it’s about letting everyone be whoever they want” (2019, 111). Later, ruminating on the different things that young men tend to associate with real men versus good men, Plank writes, “I want to be specific: freeing ourselves from gender rules doesn’t mean we have to remove it entirely from our lives, but rather that we take and leave the parts that make sense” (2019, 290).

Each of these emancipatory sentiments is compatible with an aspirational ideal of androgyny. It is curious, then, that Plank concludes her book by making the case for what she calls mindful masculinity:

We need a gender reset, and this is where mindful masculinity comes in as a necessary tool to achieve it…To put it simply, the result is that we become aware of the reason why we do the things we do…Mindful masculinity allows men to ensure that their choices align with the virtues that make them honored to be a man and practice the virtues connected with the things they know to be true. [Plank 2019, 294–295]

We will return to Plank’s discussion of mindful masculinity when we consider it as one among several attempted reclamations of masculinity. But for now what is particularly fascinating is the idea that mindful masculinity is a way to free ourselves from gender rules without removing gender from our lives. As Warren (1982, 183) and Sterba (1996, 104) remind us, those virtues traditionally associated with masculinity are still available to men under a feminist ideal of androgyny. Better still, these virtues are not limited to men, and men are not limited to these virtues, worthwhile as they may be. It would seem that mindful masculinity differs from a feminist ideal of androgyny so understood only insofar as, under the former, traditionally feminine virtues are unavailable to men and those virtues that men do practice are framed as masculine rather than as good regardless of gender. If men are indeed mindful and intentional about our choices, not just going through life on gender cruise control (as Plank memorably puts it), then limiting ourselves to those choices that align with masculine virtues seems to be contrary to truly intentional, self-directed living. Mindful androgyny would seem to enable men to do everything Plank wants for us and more.

Trouble with Double Vision

For his part Stoltenberg is deeply suspicious of the idea of doing something as men: “the two most paralyzing words in the vocabulary of the so-called man of conscience” (1989, 182). At the same time, however, he recognizes a kind of pride available to men of conscience, “not in being men but in being men who…–men who are living their lives in a way that will make a difference” (1989, 198).

I think this distinction can be really helpful, and we’ll return to it again in later chapters when we grapple with the paradox of feminist pride in manhood (see Schmitt 2001; Brod 2001). But for Stoltenberg’s radical feminist refusal of manhood, this way of characterizing things is pretty confusing. We’re not supposed to take pride in being men, to understand ourselves as doing things as men, or for that matter even acquiesce to the “personal and social hoax” (1993, 304) that we are men. And yet throughout his work Stoltenberg continues to refer to human beings raised to be men who refuse to believe in manhood as men. What is a man of conscience, if not a man? What are those people who aspire to pride in being men, who, if not men? “We need a double vision,” Stoltenberg explains. “We need to keep in our mind both the reality of our being men in the sex-class system and the truth of the possibility of a future without it” (1989, 197).

Laid out plainly like this, however, neither half of this conjunction fits easily with Stoltenberg’s call to refuse manhood as a matter of justice. There are problems here on psychological, epistemic, conceptual, and political grounds. Take the psychological tension involved in refusing to believe yourself to be a man while also being mindful that you are a man. Is this really possible? Certainly we can refuse to see our manhood as something innate and immutable. With the second half of Stoltenberg’s double vision, we can believe in the possibility of a future in which people survive and thrive without being men. But to deny that masculinity is an essential property does not mean it is not a property at all. The first half of Stoltenberg’s double vision reminds us that we presently do have this property, even as his call to refuse manhood requires refusing to recognize that.

If the reality is that I am still as yet a man in a gendered world, I would not be a very effective or trustworthy feminist ally for women, non-binary people, or other men if I refuse to acknowledge that reality, just as white people will not be effective or trustworthy allies against white supremacy if they refuse to acknowledge their whiteness and its implications in a racist society. Recall Mill’s point about how sexual inequality can foster epistemic arrogance and excessive self-regard among boys and men. If I have been raised and continue to live in that sort of society, I need to be mindful of these moral and intellectual vices as I listen to and collaborate with others. If I am still as yet a man living in an unjust patriarchal society, the gendered configurations of that patriarchal society will continue to confer a diverse array of male privileges upon me. While I do not have to endorse or embrace that, I do need to remember why it is happening. I take it that this is why Stoltenberg advises us to be mindful of our present gendered reality. What is less clear is how this fits with refusing to be a man.

One might argue that refusing to be a man now is a crucial part of making a future world without gender a reality: an instance of being the change you wish to see in the world. I agree that we can’t sit idly by and wait for a just world to create itself. As Susan Sherwin reminds us, a commitment to feminism requires not only belief in feminist principles but also active pursuit of changes needed to eliminate oppression (1989). Still it is an open question whether refusing manhood now is the right way to bring about a future without manhood. As with any project, the means to bring about a desired end should not be conflated with the end itself, and acting as if we have already achieved the end in question is an effective means of achieving such an end only in particular circumstances. Is this one of those circumstances? If we were building the world from scratch, that world could arguably be genderless simply by everyone rejecting gender for themselves, how they think about and treat others, and the social institutions they help build and maintain. But ours is a world already steeped in gender oppression, and we cannot hope to achieve a just world without reckoning with historical and extant injustices committed against women, gender non-binary and non-conforming people, and other marginalized and oppressed groups.

Men have individual and collective duties of reparative justice (Walker 2010, 2015) for our part in past and persisting gender injustices, and these cannot be brushed aside in our desire to stop being men. I do not mean to suggest that Stoltenberg is uninterested in reparative justice for historical and contemporary gender injustices; in fact his men of conscience are among those we need to do the work of relational repair. But does refusing to be a man contribute to or detract from reparative work—acknowledging and apologizing for one’s responsibility for wrongdoing, making amends toward renewed trustworthiness and possible forgiveness? My worry is that as long as we are men living in a patriarchal society and therefore implicated in, complicit with, and responsible for gender oppression, denying our manhood conflicts with our reparative practices rather than contributing to them. On the other hand, as I seek to demonstrate in the coming chapters, reflecting on and participating in practices of reparative justice for gender oppression can themselves be constitutive of how men embody and perform a distinctly feminist kind of masculinity.

Mary Anne Warren and James Sterba might remind us that feminist androgyny is supposed to be an aspirational ideal, a vision of what to work for rather than something to be enacted overnight. This is a fair point; but as with other cases of ideal theorizing in social-political philosophy an ideal is only so useful without some supplemental nonideal direction on how to get there from here (Mills 2005, 168–170). Stoltenberg’s advice is to refuse manhood now while remembering that we are still as yet men in a gendered, sexist world. Perhaps this sort of double vision will prove to be the best feminist alternative to toxic masculinity available to us. But given the complications and tensions internal to it, I suggest, the challenge of envisioning and enacting an openly, avowedly feminist masculinity is worth revisiting first.