Male and Female Souls: On Ontological Difference

by Mr. Noah Hahn

Mr. Noah Hahn received his BA in Philosophy from Concordia University Wisconsin in 2016, and his MA in Philosophy from Fordham University in 2020. He is currently a Ph.D candidate in Philosophy at Fordham, and teaches courses in Human Nature and Ethics.

The recent controversy over CPH’s new essays on the Large Catechism has caused some to ask whether it is appropriate for women to publicly teach official doctrine to the church. Some may argue directly from divine revelation to answer this question. Others might argue, from a sort of natural-law perspective informed by Scripture, that there is an ontological difference between men and women which makes it appropriate for men, but not women, to write the kind of essays newly attached to the catechism. Mark Preus’ recent article has jump-started the conversation on the first kind of argument; I would like to do the same thing for the second kind.

A recent Twitter thread by Jordan Cooper questions whether the expression “ontological difference” is helpful here. He argues that it is not, holding that the question of ontological difference between men and women is, by and large, “only asked by people who are not philosophers.” While he concedes that there is an essential difference (not merely a societal or cultural one) between men and women, he says that the term “ontological difference” in particular, at least without clarification, implies that men and women “are not two parts of the same category that is ‘human being’.”

Dr. Cooper is not a member of the Missouri Synod, but he is influential in our circles, and his publishing work at Just and Sinner has put many classical and contemporary Lutheran works into our hands. Moreover, his online presence has brought many people to confessional Lutheranism. It is therefore worthwhile to reflect on what he has to say.

As someone who enjoys studying philosophy, I was a bit surprised to read the thread in question. I am not sure how many philosophers have used the precise term “ontological difference” to describe gender, but it is quite common for philosophers to think about gender differences ontologically—from Aristotle’s politics and Thomas Aquinas’s ontology of accidents to feminist ontological thinkers like Sally Haslanger or Luce Irigaray.

To begin with, assuming that Cooper’s objection works, I do not see how “essential difference” is any better than “ontological difference.” If “ontological difference” implies that men and women are not part of the same ontological category (human), does not “essential difference” imply that men and women do not share the same essence (humanity)? To be sure, any technical term is subject to misunderstanding without further clarification; but the solution is to clarify the terms, not undermine or jettison them. (And really, I doubt that the common man would hear the term “ontological difference” and immediately assume the speaker means that men or women are not human.)

At any rate, I will be arguing that “ontological difference,” far from being a misleading term in the context of gender, is an eminently helpful one. There is an ontological difference between men and women, and that difference entails that women should not publicly teach official theology in the church.

Here is my first thesis:

(1) Ontology, the study of being, divides being into distinctive categories, such as genus/species, substance/accident, and proper/inseparable/separable accident.

Unlike physics (the science of moving bodies) or biology (the science of living things), ontology is the study of being itself. While physics and biology are quite general sciences in their own right (comprising all moving bodies and all living things, respectively), ontology is even more general (comprising all being). Ontology seeks to sort out what kinds of beings there are, how they exist, and how we can distinguish them in thought and speech. Students of classical philosophy will recognize here what Peter van Inwagen has pointed out: “ontology” is just a more modern term for what was classically called “metaphysics.” While I prefer the term “metaphysics,” I will refer to it as ontology here.

We can see now that it is misguided to object to saying that two things are ontologically distinct. Every being is ontologically distinct from every other being, just as every living thing is biologically distinct from every other living thing. The only question is how ontologically distinct two things are. This is where the distinctions in (1) become important.

A primary ontological distinction is that between substance and accident. Some things exist of themselves, like humans, cows, plants, or rocks. These are substances. Other things exist only in something else—like the height of a human, the location of a cow, the color of a plant, or the weight of a rock. These are accidents. You never find height, color, location, or weight standing on their own; you only find them in other things. The Formula of Concord affirms this distinction:

It is the indisputable truth that everything that is, is either a substance or an accident (i.e., either a self-existing essence or something accidental in it). . . . No truly intelligent person has ever had any doubts about this. Therefore, necessity constrains here, and no one can avoid it.

For some reason, it is common for Lutherans to dismiss substance-accident ontology on the grounds that Roman Catholics use it to teach transubstantiation. This is a bit ironic. It is true enough that Aquinas does argue for transubstantiation along these lines; on the other hand (as I argue in a forthcoming article), this is not a necessary consequence of the distinction. However, this argument of Aquinas was never dogmatized; and the relevant session of the Council of Trent does not use the term “accident” at all.

Ontology does not stop with substances and accidents. Substances can themselves be divided into further categories. Some substances are living; others are not (like rocks). Some of the living ones can move and sense; others cannot (like plants). Some of the moving and sensing ones are rational; others are not (like cows). At each level of distinction, we have a genus and a specific difference (or species), a distinction that lives on today only in biology. Ontologically, both plants and animals belong to the genus “living body,” but animals have the specific difference “sensing” or “mobile” that makes them a different species from plants. Both cows and humans belong to the genus “animal,” but humans have the specific difference “rational” that makes them a different species from cows.

So, there is an ontological difference of species between cows and humans; and that does not contradict the fact that they are both members of the same ontological genus. There is also an ontological difference of matter between any two given cows.

Notice that like substances, accidents can be further divided. Thomas Aquinas distinguishes three different types of accidents. First, there are “proper accidents,” which flow from a thing’s specific difference. The capacity for humor, for example, flows from the specific human difference of rationality. The capacity for humor, then, is a proper accident of humans. Second, there are “inseparable accidents,” which do not flow from a thing’s specific difference, but still cannot be separated from the thing. Finally, there are “separable accidents” like walking or being five feet tall, which can be separated from the thing with relative ease. (These distinctions can be found in Aquinas’s disputed questions De Anima and De Ente et Essentia. In my explication of them here, especially as they pertain to gender, I rely heavily on John Finley’s illuminating article “The Metaphysics of Gender: A Thomistic Approach.”)

This distinction among accidents is important. We might otherwise be tempted to say that men and women are simply different species, which share the genus “human.” But we must be careful; for this would imply that men and women are different species in the same way that cows and humans are. This was Cooper’s worry. We can avoid it by adopting my second thesis:

(2) Ontological gender differences are not differences in species, but differences involving which inseparable accidents a given human being has.

Aquinas argues that being male (or female—the argument works either way) is an inseparable accident of a human being. It is not quite a proper accident, since it does not flow directly from our specific difference of rationality—if it did, then all human beings would be male. But being male is not a separable accident either, as running is. After all, one cannot stop being male or female as one can stop running.

More can be said about these inseparable accidents in particular:

(3) The inseparable accidents of gender stem from a person’s soul—the form, not the matter, of his humanity. It is thus appropriate to speak of a “male soul” or a “female soul.”

On a Platonic understanding, the soul is an immaterial substance (remember the definition of substance above) which exists attached to a physical body, but can exist just fine, or even better, on its own. So, although your body may be male or female, a Platonic soul is genderless. Contrary to this, Aristotle recognizes that the soul is not a self-existent thing; rather, a soul is merely the “substantial form” of a body that gives it life. The soul is nothing more than the principle of life which drives the living activities of the body. For Aristotle, I am not my soul; I am a composite of body and soul. My body is essential to who I am. This is congruent with the Bible, which teaches not the persistent immortality of separated souls but the resurrection of the body.

The careful reader will note that on an Aristotelian definition, all living things have souls, corresponding to the kinds of life it has. Plants have souls too; not rational or conscious souls, to be sure, but souls nonetheless: principles of life which drive them to photosynthesize, grow taller, and so on.

Not all inseparable accidents stem from someone’s soul. Some of them stem from his matter. In his Disputed Questions on Being and Essence, Aquinas contrasts gender with the inseparable accident of skin color. Like gender, skin color is not something one can separate from oneself. But consider what happens when a man dies. The color of his skin remains; nothing about the color is affected by the event of his death. On the other hand, when a man dies, we may say “here lies a man,” but we do not mean “man” in the same way. Everything meaningful in calling him a man has been removed—he cannot procreate, and so on. While we might say that someone has a “white soul” or a “brown soul” based on his skin color, all we mean is that his soul is the kind of soul which is disposed to give life to a body of a certain color. We do not mean anything substantive about that soul’s powers. But the inseparable accidents of gender stem from the soul, and so are more intimately connected to it.

This intimate connection has a further dimension:

(4) The organs informed by inseparable accidents which stem from the soul convey distinct powers on the soul.

We are not used to speaking in this way, but prior to Newton, it was common to think of nature in terms of the powers things had, not the regularities according to which they behave. While there are obviously advantages to the Newtonian model, I suspect that contemporary science, especially psychology, has suffered for it. At any rate, for present purposes I will find it useful to speak of powers.

There are many powers of the soul: rational, emotional, and vegetative (e.g., the power to digest). However, these powers do not just flow from the soul itself; they also flow from particular physical organs which the soul informs. The soul’s power to feel love, for example, flows in part from the endocrine system that the soul informs. The soul’s power to think flows in part from the brain that the soul informs. So too for the organs informed by the soul’s proper accident of gender. Unlike our skin color, these organs convey upon our rational soul a new power: the power to create new human beings by our voluntary actions.

Some might object, along the lines Cooper does, that there is a risk of dividing humanity into two distinct species. But unlike the powers of rationality, which do indeed distinguish humans from cows, the powers of the soul conveyed by gender are incomplete: they cannot be practiced by one individual of the species. These “sexual powers” (to borrow J. Budziszewski’s term) are utterly unique in that no human being has them completely. If females (by themselves) had the total power of reproduction and males played no part, we might then have a conversation about males and females being different species. But the situation is quite the contrary. The ontological difference between men and women is not a cause for dividing humanity into two species; it is rather what creates the singular human species in the first place!

To sum up, here is what I have argued so far:

(1) Ontology, the study of being, divides being into distinctive categories, such as genus/species, substance/accident, and proper/inseparable/separable accident.

(2) Ontological gender differences are not differences in species, but differences involving which inseparable accidents a given human being has.

(3) The inseparable accidents of gender involve stem from a person’s soul—the form, not the matter, of his humanity. It is thus not an exaggeration to speak of a “male soul” or a “female soul.”

(4) The organs which the soul informs convey distinct powers on the soul.

The question of whether women should publicly teach theology to the church hinges on just what the male and female powers of the soul are. As I already mentioned, the primary one is the twin set of powers to create new human beings. In Aquinas’s Aristotelian words, man receives the incomplete power to generate in another, while woman receives the incomplete power to generate in herself. But I do not think the list of sexual powers stops here.

Women are not just “baby machines,” after all; nor are they “baby machines” plus whatever extra qualities they may have in virtue of their generic humanity. It seems much more reasonable to say that the (incomplete) power to generate in oneself comes along with other, secondary powers, such as the power to nurture that life once it has been born, the power to connect emotionally with a child in a uniquely intimate way, a heightened attunement to physical threats, and a superior sort of intuition.

By the same token, men are not just “baby machines” either. The (incomplete) power to generate in another comes along with a natural disposition to disregard one’s own safety (since his body is, in relevant ways, less valuable), an ability to disregard the household for the sake of the public, and a certain power of judgment that makes a man suited for decision-making.

A detailed analysis of the distinct powers of the male and female soul is beyond the scope of this essay, and others have written more eloquently on this issue. My aim is simply to illustrate that the inseparable accident of gender bestows powers on the soul that go beyond mere procreation, and to emphasize that there are two ways of approaching this question.

On the one hand, we could be minimalists about the sexual powers. We might want to stick only with the primary generative powers and leave men and women as “baby-making machines.” But that would be rather disappointing. Why not be a maximalist about sexual powers? Why not go into the world with all of one’s colorful biases, fascinations, and excitedly informed generalizations? They can always be tweaked or falsified. Why put the burden of proof on the one who wants to decorate the world? Better to put the burden on the dour salesman of grey reductionism.

Sometimes, minimalist arguments are not just disappointing, but logically flawed. Take dismissal of candidate sexual powers as “merely cultural.” This is flawed because culture is not “mere”; it is the fabric of civilization. Moreover, when we inculturate boys and girls to be different, with an eye to the primary sexual powers which we know they will one day possess, we do the church and the world a service—even if the means we employ are a bit superficial (such as giving boys and girls different toys).

But how do these powers apply in the case of public church teaching?

The fact that Scripture expressly forbids the Office of the Holy Ministry to women makes our job easy when it comes to ordination. We do not need to ponder whether the sexual powers are more conducive to an all-male clergy; God has spoken. That said, God orders all things well. It would be surprising if the sexual powers were not relevant to the prohibition. The only alternative would seem to be that God forbids ordination to women on more or less superficial grounds.

Even if Scripture were totally silent on the role of women in the church except for the specific prohibition of women’s ordination, it would be reasonable for us to assume that men are, by virtue of the powers bestowed on their soul by their gender, categorically suited to be pastors, and that women are not. But by the same token, it is reasonable to say the same thing about activities which are very similar to the Office—activities like teaching theology publicly in the church. In simple terms, it is reasonable to say “only men should teach theology publicly in the church, because they are better at it than women, even if we aren’t quite sure why they are better.” It is certainly more reasonable than saying “this activity is quite close to what pastors do, but since it isn’t technically pastoral activity, I’m sure both men and women can do it with impunity.”

All we need to do is assume is that if God prohibits certain people from doing a thing for some good reason, there is probably some good reason for those people to avoid doing very similar things. Of course, one could certainly pick out one or more of the male sexual powers as being the main reason. My own view is that the soul of man is suited to what is outward and public, while the soul of woman is suited to what is inward and private. But again, picking out specific relevant powers is not necessary for my argument to work.

Suppose I am wrong about the similarity between publicly teaching theology and the pastoral office. Suppose the only qualifications for publicly teaching theology are the gender-neutral qualities being a good writer or obtaining a graduate degree in theology. Even then, we are faced with a problem. When a permitted activity seems very similar to a forbidden activity, even if it is actually different, the permitted activity becomes inadvisable. In fact, forgoing what is permitted for the sake of decorum and good order is an especially beautiful and joy-inducing thing—especially in our current political climate. Permitting women to publicly teach theology in the church is not a winsome, clear ornamentation, defense, or presentation of the distinctions between men and women in a rapidly decaying world. The mere fact that most Americans cannot tell the difference between a pastor and a public theology teacher should be enough to dissuade us from being permissive here.

I will go further. It is actually a wonderful thing when we culturally maintain gender distinctions for no reason at all. Trivialities are conspicuously ripe for piety. Is there anything inherently feminine about pink, or inherently masculine about blue? Of course not. But isn’t it just nice that we have decided otherwise? Or what about activities that are at least weakly masculine or feminine (like fixing a car or cooking a meal, respectively)? Perhaps if you disagree that these are weakly gendered, is there not something enjoyable that occurs when the men to go outside and build an engine and the women to stay inside and cook a meal? Why look on such innocent practices with suspicion, as though there were some great sinister conspiracy at play? I worry that those who bristle or squirm at such things are being robbed of life’s most carefree joys. They are just the other side of the equally joyful practice of having men and women all sit around the table together for dinner.

Skepticism about gender distinctions is such a far cry from the joyful, almost spiteful triumphalism with which some people reject homogeneity—even when it would be permissible. This rejection is not a cynical “I could do this just as well as you (maybe better!) but sure, I’ll shut up and let you do it.” Rather, there is real gratitude that others are doing their thing, a genuine lack of presumption that I should be doing it, and a real enjoyment in doing something else with members of my own gender. There may even be a bit of pride in sticking it to a world that would remove these distinctions. (Let the head covering aficionado understand!)

Why not err on the side of too many gender distinctions, just for the fun of it? And if it is natural to enjoy gendered distinctions in small things like colors and kitchens, how much more in large things like public teaching of the church? Why is it so scandalous to hold that only men should do this? Whatever drives us to ask where the line is, as though we would want to tread in grey areas, I do not think it is a natural movement.

I should point out that writing hymns is categorically different from the public, official teaching of doctrine. An essay expounding the Catechism and published with it is nearly the purest form of dogmatic teaching a Lutheran could think of. Such essays teach per se; hymns only teach per accidens. A hymn, whether written by a man or by a woman, is not primarily a teaching tool for public, official doctrine in the same way a catechism is. Nor is hymn writing perceived by the general population as performing an activity in the same ballpark as the activities proper to the Office of the Ministry.

As I have presented it, ontology is about the distinction of various kinds of being. It strikes me that Adam, in naming the animals, was the first metaphysician. In doing so, he was merely participating in the image of God, whose entire creative act consisted in distinguishing between kinds of being: light and darkness, birds and fish, male and female. Ontology helps us explicate those distinctions accurately. To thumb one’s nose at ontology is to peer longingly into the darkness which was once over the face of the deep. To reject metaphysics is to reject the act of Creation.