From 2005, a post fusing sex education and progressive evangelicalism.
My lecture in women’s history this morning was about nineteenth century attitudes towards women’s sexuality. It’s the same lecture I wrote about in this April 2004 post. In addition to talking about clitoridectomies, and the shift to the "medicalization of morality", we wandered on to the topics of sexual ethics, masturbation and "contingent happiness." (Hey, they were awake and interested, and I was on a caffeinated roll!) We talked about the difficulties 19th century medicine had with the clitoris, as it represented women’s capacity for their own pleasure, unrelated to either a man’s delight or (at least directly) to reproduction. We talked about the biological determinism problem: if all of our sexual organs are for reproduction, and sexual pleasure is about reproduction, why is the clitoris placed to be easily reached by a woman’s fingers — but not by a man’s penis during intercourse? (I did not suggest that this was a problem to be solved, rather that it threw the proverbial "wrench in the works" of many 19th century theories!)
I shared with my students the classic feminist argument (ala Betty Dodson et al) that the clitoris is symbolic of women’s right to pleasure and fulfillment without being dependent upon another person. While traditional sexual mores, and a considerable amount of religious teaching, stress that our sexual happiness ought always be contingent upon relationship with another (usually our spouse), some feminist theory sees the clitoris as the small, powerful, and physical manifestation of the larger truth that women as well as men have the capacity for pleasure "uncontingent" upon another. The anti-masturbation screeds of the 19th and 20th centuries have always emphasized that our sexuality is not our own, that it belongs to God and our spouse. The clitoris, with no direct function other than a woman’s delight, stands (sorry!) in stubborn defiance of the notion that our sexual happiness should always be contingent upon relationship with another. In a very real sense, one can thus argue that female masturbation is an inherently feminist act.
At the same time that I say all this, teach all this, and believe all this, I’ve got 1 Corinthians 7:4 running through my head:
The wife’s body does not belong to her alone but also to her husband. In the same way, the husband’s body does not belong to him alone but also to his wife.
I’ve loved that line from Paul for two reasons. One, as a pro-feminist, it is a reminder of radical equality in marriage. Men and women both surrender their autonomy over the most precious part of themselves, and they are to do so equally. It’s a nice counter-balance to other areas where Paul seems to imply the superior position of the husband in the family.
But I also like the verse because it reminds me that in Christian marriage, we are called to live sacrificially for one another. This doesn’t just mean sexually; as Cait points out, it’s 1 Corinthians 7:4 that allows her to have veto power over her husband’s desire to do dangerous things, like ride a motorcycle without a helmet. It’s what gives my wife the right to demand that I see a doctor when I am ill; it is not merely my body that is ailing, but hers as well. At its best, this ideal summons up a magnificent image of devotion, reciprocity, and mutual care. It’s both deeply romantic and profound holy, and as a newly married man, I find it inspiring.
I don’t lecture to my women’s studies students about Pauline images of marriage! My lectures in class are classically feminist in their emphasis on the notion that women’s overarching right to pleasure, individual happiness, autonomy and independence is the sine qua non of the movement. In my marriage, however, and in my faith life, I’ve long since given up the notion that autonomy and personal pleasure ought to be the highest goals for myself or anyone else. To the best of my clumsy and sinful ability, I am embracing sacrificial living. My sexuality is no longer my own; I did surrender it to my wife as she surrendered hers to me. We are not each other’s jailers, mind you, but we are committed to a joint vision of sexuality that is ours (rather than hers, or mine). No, I’m not sharing any more details than that, but I can say it is a practice that is modeled on what I read in Paul.
So what do I want for my students of both sexes? I suppose I reconcile the secular feminist ideal of autonomy and the Christian ideal of sacrificial loving in my own mind by suggesting that the former is a necessary precursor to the latter. After all, we can only really give to another what we first know to be ours! Thus, I think that a healthy model of sexual development encourages young people, boys and girls alike, to take ownership of their sexuality and delight in their own bodies as sexual creatures. They will experience their bodies as their own, a gift of God for their own wonder and delight. I hope they will do so without shame. Then, after a suitable period (which will vary from person to person), my hope is that they will find one person to whom they can make a lasting commitment. In the safe and loving context of that commitment, they will offer their sexuality — their very body — as a gift to their partner. And when they do that, they will live out the vision of 1 Corinthians 7:4 regardless of their individual religious beliefs.
UPDATE from 2010: I’ve moved about three steps to the left since I wrote this, but stand by 98% of it.
I find this post seriously problematic.
Presumably also that *not masturbating* is an inherently feminist act. That is, the challenge to sexism is not derived from females being sexual (which is no challenge at all — women have historically been thought to be sexual, or even overly-sexual, at many times and for many reasons), but from females being sexually *autonomous*. The woman who decides she doesn’t want to be sexual is acting in a feminist way as much as the woman who wants to be sexual, either alone or consensually with a partner(s). If we say that only saying “yes” to sex and sexuality is empowering and we don’t talk about saying “no”, we fail to address the way women are often assumed to be sexually available, assumed to enjoy all sex all of the time, and the very real harm that lack of autonomy does.
You’ve presented autonomy here like it’s something selfish, and you haven’t addressed the reasons autonomy is so key in feminist discourse: autonomy is key in feminist discourse because of the violence faced by so many people whose ability to decide for themselves what they want to do with their own bodies is taken away from them.
As I’m sure you’re aware, that line from Corinthians has also been used to argue that sex is a duty of marriage (implicitly, of wives), and that marriage therefore constitutes permanent sexual consent (or removes the need for consent). Hardly a statement of radical equality in marriage. This interpretation lends itself very easily to apologism for partner rape and abuse, as does any claim to “ownership” of another person.
I don’t think a partner ever gets to decide these things for another person. Your body is not your partner’s. I get to make my own medical decisions, whether my significant other agrees with them or not. It’s *my* body, not my significant other’s. And I still get to expect his support, even if I make a decision he doesn’t agree with. He gets to express his concern in certain ways, but he doesn’t get to police *my* body. I’m astonished that the claim that one’s body belongs to one’s partner could ever be upheld as a feminist view — this is absolutely contrary to autonomy. Does my SO also get to decide who I spend time with? What I wear? You’ve written against these ideas in the past, which highlights an inconsistency. I mean, if my body is his, why doesn’t he get to decide these things? Because my body isn’t his, that’s why.
And the ones that aren’t or don’t want to be sexual? It’s not a theoretical question. For many, the constant pressure to be sexually available is as much, if not more, a threat than the pressure not to be sexual. It’s great if we can encourage people to find sexuality to be a source of joy and fulfillment, but for many people, it’s not being sexual that might lead to the same joy and fulfillment. It’s being able to say “no” to sex that is crucial for many.
As I’ve said before, I find this allocation of Real Relationship Points deeply heteronormative. Also, giving your body to your partner? Not something I can see as feminist.
But I guess what I’m really left wondering at the end of this post is why you felt that autonomy and commitment to marriage were really in conflict in the first place? My SO and I do not own each other’s bodies, and do not pretend to, and that’s out of respect for each other. It’s precisely because my SO and I genuinely respect each other that we invest so much time and energy into making sure that we each feel autonomous and safe in our relationship. There’s no conflict here with our commitment to each other. I’m not sure why anyone would think there would be.
–IP
IP, when I first started blogging, I wrote primarily for a Christian audience (most of my posts from 2004-2006 reflect that). My primary goal in the ‘sphere was explaining feminist principles to conservative evangelicals. This post reflects that focus.
I don’t have time to respond properly to all of your points, but will say this about masturbating as a “feminist act.” The clitoris, like the tongue, has feminist implications in its use. When a woman uses her tongue to speak up, that’s a feminist act — when she refrains from using it in order to remain silent, it’s less obviously feminist. Of course, one can be a feminist and not masturbate. But the act of “not masturbating” isn’t inherently feminist; assuming that one isn’t masturbating out of obligation, the act of masturbating is.
Your focus is clear. I’m saying that in not discussing the role of sexual violence and partner abuse, “self-giving” and similar concepts are extremely vulnerable to interpretation as rape/abuse apologism.
Additionally, you seem to be presupposing that the dominant pressure on women as regards sexuality is to have *no* sexual feeling or drive, and to be basically virginal. I’m saying that in a world in which sexual violence is highly prevalent, it’s not clear to me that such a presupposition flies. There’s a great deal of pressure on women to be sexually available, and often that pressure is highly violent. Granted, these pressures are not exact opposites of each other (many women do experience both), and may be experienced in different ways by different women.
The “sex positive” feminist view is that consensual sexual activity, either alone or with a partner(s), is inherently empowering, and you touch on this type of view. I’m saying that’s not enough, because on this view, nothing empowers women to say “no”, or to resist the pressures to be constantly sexual, or to be sexual at all.
Sorry for the long comments.
–IP
Excellent blog. I look forward to joining future conversations.
IP, I think you and I agree completely on the pressure on women to be sexually available to men. Which again is why the clitoris deserves mention, and why masturbation matters. There’s a world of difference between the pressure to be sexy and granting oneself permission to be sexual. The former centers women as objects; the latter as independent agents. The former is more or less required by the culture; the latter can be chosen rather than compelled. I think that’s a crucial distinction.
The former centers women as objects; the latter as independent agents.
That’s the object/autonomy distinction. But you explicitly problematise the “feminist ideal of autonomy” as being largely incompatible with the conservative Christian framework you present, with the assertion that someone’s body can “belong” to their partner. The ownership of someone else’s body is incompatible with their autonomy.
–IP
I agree, ownership is incompatible with autonomy, and with a healthy understanding of monogamy. This reflected a preliminary attempt to thread a needle and reconcile two apparent irreonciliables! And yes, I still need to write that post about monogamy, growth, intimacy, and ownership.
Longtime lurker, first time poster. I just wanted to say that I normally love your blog, but here I agree with IP. The idea that one’s body and sexuality should belong to one’s partner creeps me out (and it is a very, very close cousin to the idea that a woman can’t say no to sex once she’s married). If it works for you and your partner, fine, but advocating it to all young people as you do at the end of the post (and, in fact, advocating monogamous partnership to all young people in the first place) invites misinterpretation. Also, though it does shake things up a bit for a male blogger to be writing this about himself, talking about how self-sacrifice is more important/virtuous than autonomy seems to play into a lot of the pressures (sexual pressures and the pressure to be perfect in other ways) that you condemn when they’re applied to women. It’s like saying, “Sure, women should have a right to autonomy. It’s just that women who want that aren’t good people.” Even though I know you didn’t mean it this way, the implication is that virtuous people (for practical purposes, women) don’t care about themselves and that their sexuality exists to please their partners (husbands). Saying that teenagers should get to enjoy themselves first (but they still inevitably have to make this sacrifice if they want to be virtuous!) doesn’t really make it any more reasonable to demand that sacrifice. My body does not belong to my partner. I can refuse sex, or get an abortion without my partner’s permission. I think you’d agree I have a right to both these things, but I wouldn’t under the logic of this post.
Sorry that my first comment is so disapproving- I do like most of your posts, honest! I guess I’m interested to hear which parts make up the 2% you no longer stand by.
To clarify/sound less extreme: I can see that if you were addressing people who might have believed in giving oneself away in marriage and might have condemned masturbation, the point that one can’t give oneself away without first owning oneself is a good one to make. I also think it’s worth talking about how the self-sacrificial ideal of romantic relationships can only happen safely when both parties already have a sense of their own worth and autonomy. What troubled me was the suggestion that people have to give up their autonomy to be good people, and that relationships in which one doesn’t give up one’s body to one’s partner aren’t truly loving or romantic. That’s a message women in particular already get too often. I don’t think you can reconcile an absolute right to bodily integrity, which I thought you were defending in your more recent posts on abortion, with an ideal of partnership in which one partner’s body belongs to the other partner, and certainly not by saying that one’s body is one’s own up until that point. The implications of that ideal are very dangerous, especially for women.
Thanks, Aishlin, as I’ve said, from 2004-2006, I wrote primarily for a Christian audience, and only about four years ago began to make this a feminist blog with occasional Christian musings rather than what it was in the beginning, a Christian blog that offered insights into feminism.
I don’t think I’ve ever said “people have to give up their autonomy to be good people”. What I was trying to do was bring a feminist Christian analysis to the notion of “mutual submission”. Mutual submission is a very hard concept for people to grasp, as it represents an egalitarianism so radical that even those who claim to know the Scripture best often have a hard time grasping its implications. There’s an obvious paradox in upholding both the ideal of “two becoming one” without surrendering the commitment to individual autonomy. Christian marriage is, at its best, about reconciling that paradox in practice.