Scene 4
The Gender of God
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Setting: The celestial chamber grows darker, the walls alive with shifting images of divine figures—powerful male gods, nurturing goddesses, and ancient symbols of fertility and authority. A deep, resonant hum fills the air, vibrating like a heartbeat. Freud, Jay, and Eliade stand at the center of the chamber, facing one another. The air is charged with tension as the next phase of their reckoning begins.
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Eliade: (Looking from Freud to Jay) Friends, we’ve argued over sacrifice, over rituals, over blood and symbols. But we have yet to confront the question that shapes all of these traditions. Who—or what—is God? Is God a father, as you believe, Freud? Or is the divine shaped by patriarchy, as you claim, Nancy? Or could it be something far beyond these constructs?
Freud: (Smirking) A question as old as humanity itself. But the answer is clear. God is male—a father figure who commands authority, protection, and obedience. The worship of God reflects humanity’s deepest psychological need for a protector and lawgiver (Pals, 2009, p. 72).
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Nancy Jay: (Sharply, crossing her arms) Clear? Freud, your “male God” is nothing but a construct—an invention to justify the erasure of the feminine. Sacrifice, the cornerstone of religious practice, is designed to replace the maternal with the paternal. Male dominance isn’t divine; it’s engineered (Jay, 1992, pp. 3-4).
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Eliade: (Interjecting gently) But you’re both ignoring something fundamental. Before the rise of patriarchal systems, humanity revered the feminine divine. The Venus figurines of the Paleolithic era weren’t symbols of authority but of life, fertility, and cosmic renewal. These were the first gods humanity ever knew (Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 6, p. 51).
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(The walls shimmer, revealing ghostly images of Paleolithic Venus figurines, their exaggerated features glowing faintly. The room feels charged with ancient power.)
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Freud: (Watching the images with mild disdain) Symbols of fertility, yes. But primitive. As societies evolved, they recognized the need for structure, authority, and morality. These qualities are inherently paternal, and so the father replaced the mother as the central figure of worship (Pals, 2009, p. 74).
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Jay: (Advancing, her voice rising) Structure and authority? Or control? Sacrificial rituals, Freud, are not about morality—they’re about power. Blood becomes the symbol of continuity, but only male blood. Women, the true bearers of life, are deliberately excluded. It’s a deliberate erasure (Jay, 1992, p. 5).
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Eliade: (Raising a hand for silence, his tone firm) Enough. Both of you are locked in the constructs of the modern world. Let us look deeper. The divine has always been more than male or female. In Hinduism, the goddesses Durga and Kali embody both nurturing and destruction. They are not mere consorts—they are powers unto themselves, transcending the binaries we impose (Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 6, pp. 518-519).
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Freud: (Challenging) And yet, even in these traditions, male gods often take precedence. The divine king, the creator, the judge—all these roles are filled by male figures. Humanity needs a father, Eliade, not a goddess of chaos (Pals, 2009, p. 77).
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Jay: (Stepping forward, her voice cold) And what of the Virgin Mary? Even in your patriarchal Christianity, Freud, the figure of Mary endures—adored, worshipped, a goddess in disguise. She embodies purity, motherhood, and divine grace. How do you explain her survival? (Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 6, pp. 520-521).
Eliade: (Smiling faintly) Because the feminine divine cannot be erased. Even as patriarchal systems rose, goddess worship persisted—transforming, adapting, but never disappearing. In Mesopotamia, Inanna ruled over fertility and war. In Egypt, Isis was central to kingship and rebirth. These goddesses were not subordinated; they were integral to the cosmos (Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 6, pp. 515-517).
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(The walls shift again, showing goddesses like Isis, Kali, and Amaterasu. Their forms pulse with power—terrifying and nurturing, destructive and life-giving. The chamber feels alive with their energy.)
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Freud: (Softer now, watching the images) Perhaps… Perhaps there is something enduring in these symbols. But the question remains—why did the father take precedence? Why did monotheism emerge with a male God at its center?
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Eliade: (Speaking with quiet authority) Because monotheism reflects a specific phase in human development—a phase where authority and order were paramount. But even then, the feminine endured. In Judaism, the Shekinah represents the presence of God, embodying qualities of compassion and nurturing. The divine cannot be confined to a single form (Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 6, p. 518).
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Jay: (Nodding slowly) Perhaps. But we must also acknowledge the harm done by these constructs. Sacrificial systems reinforced hierarchies that marginalized women, turning them into symbols of impurity. That legacy remains, even in modern religious practices (Jay, 1992, pp. 6-7).
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Freud: (Quietly, almost to himself, acknowledging Eliade's words) Perhaps, Eliade, you were right when you said it was all just shadows on a wall. If God transcends gender, then our arguments are nothing more than projections—our fears, our desires—painted onto a divine canvas.
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Eliade: (Smiling warmly) Exactly. The divine is not male nor female. It is both, and neither. It binds together all realities, weaving life, death, and the cosmos into a sacred unity. The divine simply is—beyond our constructs, beyond our limitations. This is the truth we must see as seekers of the infinite (Pals, 2009, p. 291).
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(The walls fade into a golden glow, and the images of gods and goddesses dissolve into formless light. The hum grows louder, vibrating through their very beings. Freud, Jay, and Eliade stand in silence, the weight of understanding settling over them.)
