Thursday, 9 January 2014

'Feminism is poison'

Today, 106 years ago, Simone de Beauvoir was born. She was the lover of Jean-Paul Sartre, the French Communist philosopher whose nihilism so impressed the young Pol Pot, when he was a young man in Paris.

She said, when asked in an interview if women should be allowed to stay home,

"No, we don’t believe that any woman should have this choice. No woman should be authorised to stay at home to raise her children. Society should be totally different. Women should not have that choice, precisely because if there is such a choice, too many women will make that one. It is a way of forcing women in a certain direction."
Her ideas have since triumphed. This happened when under pressure from feminists lenders started taking into account wives' incomes as well as husbands' when calculating mortgage loans.

It seems to me that modern feminism, meaning her variety, has been a great enemy to women. It seems incompatible with belief in God. It is essentially atheistic. It is based on the premise that biological differences are arbitrary, not God-given. 

It is also clear that feminism and the contraceptive pill between them are bringing about the death of Europe. Margaret Thatcher was right when she said
Feminism is poison.


  1. She was a loathsome child molester who seduced her pupils and then passed them on to that swivel-eyed perv, Sartre. What on earth is wrong with leftwing intellectuals? Isn't there a single one whose personal lives don't have some mould or strain of rottenness that obviates the supposed humanistic underpinnings of their various political, literary, sociological and critical philosophies?

  2. Her intellectual credentials were as prominent as Sartre's. Her book, The Second Sex (1949), had become the bible of gender politics and the French writer and philosopher Raymond Aron, in view of her stern demeanour and light moustache, dubbed her ‘the father of modern feminism’. A more sympathetic author, Angela Carter, asked, "There is one question that every thinking woman in the western world must have asked herself at one time or another. Why is a nice girl like Simone de Beauvoir sucking up to a boring old fart like Jean-Paul Sartre?’.
    The answer is, they were about as nice as each other. Sartre had stopped having sex with her after the war, his decision rather than hers, and they agreed to an open relationship so long as each told the other about their affairs, in crude detail as it turned out from their posthumously published papers. Sartre went on to have a string of affairs with thin, nervy young women sufficiently intimidated by his intellect to overcome any possible distate for his physical appearance and habits; de Beauvoir, a bisexual, did much the same. The letters reveal that in later life de Beauvoir would seduce girls and then pass them on to Sartre consoling them with the information, ‘he cannot have conventional relations anymore but likes to have someone in bed to talk to about himself’.
    She overstepped herself in the last years because Sartre determined to cut de Beauvoir off from any access to the burgeoning royalties of his life’s writings. To make a will or to marry one of his girlfriends would have been unthinkably bourgeois. Instead, he adopted the nineteen year old Arlette Elkaïm, making her automatically his sole heir when he died in 1980. Not to be outdone, de Beauvoir also adopted a young girl, Sylvie Le Bon, a student aged sixteen, who inherited her estate on de Beauvoir’s death in 1986.
    Dearly loving a feud, both Sartre and de Beauvoir would undoubtedly have been pleased to learn that twenty years after their deaths, their literary estates remain in perpetual legal battle to prevent de the publication of any work authored by their respective legators.