Complementarity, not equality

The Catholic Church teaches that men and woman are equal in terms of their human dignity. But people in general, regardless of gender, are not equal in terms of much else. People differ wildly in terms of their physical strength, their mental acuity, their emotional resilience, etc., etc. In other words, human beings are vastly unequal. And unless you're Larry Summers, it's perfectly reasonable to point out that, on average, men have distinct natural advantages over women in many fields of work.

This reflection follows my recent posts arguing that marriage and family life can benefit hugely from husbands and wives collaborating on significant, financially remunerative work ("A woman's place is in the home, and a man's too" here, and "The danger of the double income" here). My argument is the

making of money is that without which a family cannot exist, and unless a woman is part of it, her contribution to the family will often be secondary to her husband's. It's a situation only amplified in modern times for women who choose to be homemakers because so many of the formerly essential tasks of the housewife -- the raising and preservation of food, the clothing of the family, etc. -- have been vastly streamlined or rendered wholly unnecessary by advances in modern technology.

In response to my earlier posts, however, a friend observed that the inequality that exists between men and women is inherent to our human nature, and that it would therefore be present even within the sort of shared work that I proposed. Even there, in other words, the husband and wife will not contribute equally due to "inherent inequalities," up to and including, in his words, the "brute facts of pregnancy."

Now, my wife Rosemary is no slouch For proof, see the above picture of her spreading hay over our newly planted garlic a few Novembers ago, mere weeks from her due date! But within our own shared, home-based enterprise -- namely, the small family farm -- the distinct natural advantages of the man are glaringly obvious. It's not just the 'brute facts of pregnancy," either. Since I can't nurse the baby at night, you can imagine who's regularly tired in the mornings and, alternately, who's refreshed and ready to go out to the fields. If we total up the man-hours, it's indisputable that I'm the one who hoes more rows of squash in the field, stacks more bales of hay in the barn, and carries more buckets of water down to the animals.

At first glance, therefore, my friend is right. All the home-based enterprise has accomplished is bringing the inequalities directly into the home. At least, that's the way it seems on the family farm, where the physical demands are so clearly better suited to the physique of a man.

My response, however, is that this view doesn't fully take into account the complex web of shared duties and responsibilities that can only exist when the wife, to whatever degree circumstances permit, is wholly invested in the project that provides the family with income. One reason I don't think I've ever tallied up my hours in the field versus Rosemary's is because on a daily basis I'm close enough to her own struggles with the children in the house that I have at least an inkling as to how difficult they are. Similarly, she's close enough to the fields to see me working. There's a mutual appreciation, first of all, simply due to the proximity in which the husband and wife work in a home-based business. Contrast that with the husband who comes home from work, finds the house a mess, and wonders what his wife has been up to all day. When the husband and wife both work from the home, and when they're forced to step into each other's shoes temporarily on a regular basis, they're more likely to grasp the importance of each other's unique contributions.

That's not even taking into account the wife's contributions to the business, which are over and above her contributions to the family as a homemaker. Even in farming, not every task is physically demanding and better suited to the physique of a man. I think that our own enterprise with goats provides a great example of how we've come to work together. While I may be stacking the hay bales and hauling the water, I've come to marvel at the way that Rosemary can "read" a goat's health. Really, she can look at a goat and say there's a deficiency that needs to be addressed, or that the goat is bred, or that she'll be in labor within the day. She's the one with the confidence--and the hands small enough--to pull the babies and clear the lungs. When it comes to sales, I may be the one who writes the advertisements, but when folks call and start asking the tough questions about breeding stock, I hand the phone to the expert, who consistently makes a sale.

The point is, when a husband and wife go into business together, they learn by dint of necessity how their skills and abilities complement each other. It's not a matter merely of tallying up the hours or the calories burned, either. There are certain things that I yield on because trial and error has shown clearly that Rosemary is better in that area. Added to this is the fact that I'm close enough to the work that she does in the house to be reminded constantly of the toll of the "brute facts of pregnancy" and mothering that keep her in the house more than she'd like. Our contribution may not match up in terms of the dollars it brings in farming-wise. But because our daily labor is within the home, it encompasses the total reality of family life, not just the parts that bring in the cash. Rather, it includes the homemaking and the education and rearing of the children, in addition to the hoeing and haymaking. It is perfectly clear to both of us that we are equally, so to speak, "all in."