Sexual moralism – Compulsory sex – Sex positivity – Sex negativity
The text was presented on May 1, 2020, at the Sexolution – Sex-Positive Conference Vienna as part of the session “What Does Sex-Positive Mean?”
“[T]hese days, it can certainly be seen as boring not to be sexually experimental.
, I’d say that the sex hierarchy remains, even though the line is drawn somewhat lower down the pyramid than it used to be. We still have a strong sense of what ‘normal’ sex should be like in relationships. But we also have the idea that we should be having ‘great sex’. This might involve being open to trying some of the ‘spicy’ activities that used to be strictly off-limits. Because sex and love are so closely intertwined, we feel as though relationships must remain sexually exciting over time to prove that they’re still loving and still working.”
– Meg John Barker – Rewriting the Rules, 2018
I'd like to speak up in defense of sex negativity.
Why?
1) Despite all the wonderful things that the “sex-positive” label makes possible, it also has its weaknesses, stumbling blocks, pitfalls, and misunderstandings. These go hand in hand with an uncritical understanding of sex positivity, when the problem is diagnosed in an overly one-sided way: that sex isprimarilysuppressed and treated as a taboo.
2) I would like to propose a very specific understanding of sex negativity that cannot be confused with either a form of religiously conservative or politically right-wing hostility toward sex.
3) More broadly, I’d like to move away from binary divisions and make it clear that sex negativity and sex positivity don’t have to be two opposing forces; rather, they could be seen as two progressive strategies—each coming from opposite directions—that pull in the same direction to somehow keep a huge elephant in check together. The poor elephant must briefly serve as a stand-in for the real adversary, who is laughing up his sleeve when, for example, sex-positive and sex-negative feminists are busy tearing each other apart and are thus too distracted to jointly tackle the truly relevant power structures of violence at their root: patriarchal, capitalist, neoliberal power structures that have no interest in the well-being, equality, and joyful lives of all people. This is precisely where my critique of sex-positivity begins, because it can easily be co-opted by these powers.
When I look around, it’s by no means the case that sex is merely repressive and demonized as something dirty; in our society, sex is also encouraged, and it has a very prominent public presence—and I feel that whatthismeansforsex positivity is missing from the sex-positive discourse. Sometimes I get the feeling that people assume we’re still living in the Middle Ages or the 1950s. Such tendencies do still exist (such as “abstinence-only” sex education in many U.S. states), but at the same time, it hardly shocks anyone seriously today if, for example, someone owns sex toys or considers masturbation healthy—that has long since entered the mainstream—or by how many sexual innuendos advertisements make use of. There’s a vast amount of self-help literature and sex tips in magazines, with the key point being that while people are no longer told they must have sex only in the missionary position with their spouse for the purpose of having a baby, itcertainly doesn’t have to be confinedto the marital bedroom—it can happen on the washing machine, with whipped cream, “to spice things up.”
Other “you should” and “you must” expectations quickly creep in—ones that don’t lead to sexual liberation, but rather to stress, pressure, expectations, and frustration. Then we start to feel abnormal, for example, because some statistics claim that in a healthy relationship, sex has to happen so-and-so many times a week. Or maybe you want to belong to the sex-positive crowd andsoyou go along with certain things—not out of your own desire or curiosity, but out of fear of being excluded, or because you want to please others or come across in a certain way, as an interesting lover with special skills…
So, by following the dictate that one must do sex correctly and better, one becomes one’s own “sex entrepreneur.” This can not only lead to depressing performance anxiety but also make reaching consensus difficult, especially when the reasons for saying “yes” can vary so widely—if you don’t stay grounded in your own feelings, desires, and understanding of such entanglements, and if you don’t realize just how complex “authentic” desire can sometimes be.
For sex is not, in and of itself, something pure, untainted, or untouchable; rather, it is shaped by culture, upbringing, and socialization—and thus, in our society, by a structural, dominant focus on increasing efficiency, productivity, performance, curating one’s own image, and managing one’s own privileges. All of this can also be observed in sex-positive circles when they do not take these cunning mechanisms seriously enough.
The problem here is also the strong focus on self-fulfillment and self-improvement, which causes the collective aspect to be lost. Sex is not merely an expression of myself, but a dialogue with the world and a mirror of that world. If I merely makemy ownindividual life more pleasurable—climbing a ladder, so to speak, but pulling the ladder up behind me—that would be a weak concept of sex positivity for me. A radical movement that could truly set something exciting in motion would have to aim to make this ladder accessible toeveryone, especially those for whom access is particularly difficult.
I often observe that for those who define themselves as “sex-positive,” there isn’t much at stake in calling themselves that. For me, too, it’s a low-barrier concept and nothing special. Rather, that’s exactly what’s expected of me: to be sex-positive.
Hopefully, the reasons for this will become clearer below. I've summarized a few points that are repeatedly raised by a handful of critical voices within the scene.
When, as an act of rebellion, it’s described as so subversive to live your life according to the motto that sex is beautiful and good—and, for example, to reclaim and give positive meaning to the insult “slut.” In some contexts, that’s a powerful gesture, one that I also support. In other contexts, however, it merely reinforces the status quo. How subversive is it really to say that sex is wonderful? In fact, people tend to look at you funny if you say you don’t want to have sex or don’t find it wonderful per se—and then they ask, “Why not?” It’s much rarer for people to ask those who want to have sex or find it beautiful, “Why?” And how exciting it would be to think about that! Lisa Millbank, a blogger I greatly admire, came up with the idea that not only the insult “slut,” but also “prude”—the otherwise common derogatory term for being frigid and prudish—should be imbued with more pride.
The message that sex is good and beautiful excludes certain people: on the one hand, those for whom sex is complex, difficult, or even traumatic. On the other hand, asexual people or people for whom sex is neither particularly wonderful nor terrible, but rather neutral. The emphasis on just how sacred and important sex actually is then subtly conveys the message that there is something wrong with these people.
So whenever we hear the term “sex positivity,” we should always ask: positive for whom? This also applies to the next point:Time and again, people point out the existence of privilege and how homogeneous many sex-positive scenes are—in short: predominantly white, middle class, and with a certain level of education. Likewise, hierarchical dynamics are merely reproduced there as well—for example, when traditional beauty standards go hand in hand with greater “fuckability,” or when even at the most creative events, it becomes apparent just how heteronormative, youth-normative, thinness-normative, etc., things really are.
So. This is where a concept of “sex-negativity” would come in and say: “I’m not interested in all these little games; there has to be another way, instead of just having the same thing all over again.” And in doing so, neither simply deifying nor condemning sex.That’s why Lisa Millbank suggests the four words in the title of my talk, which are related to one another in the following way:
The two hegemonic powers:
Sexual moralism (the more precise term for what is usually described pejoratively as “sex negativity”)
is a concept with deep historical roots that imposes a strict set of rules on how sex should take place and labels anything that goes beyond those rules as wrong, evil, or perverse. It is primarily about control—for example, ensuring a certain availability of women’s bodies so that they fit into the role of a “good” mother and thereby uphold a specific system.
Prostitution and desire that go beyond heterosexual couple normativity are demonized or rendered invisible. To stigmatize all those who do not submit to this, practices such as slut-shaming are employed.Prescribed, mandatory sex
is a modern variation that also controls bodies and makes them available. It assumes that everyone should have sex, and—in short—is governed by a principle that Lisa Millbank sums up as “gotta fuck”: if, as a heterosexual woman, you don’t let men fuck you, you’re not being a “woman” properly; if, as a heterosexual man, you don’t fuck women, you’re not being a “man” properly. This patriarchal structure is so flexible that it can also infiltrate non-heterosexual communities, where it becomes “men gotta fuck men,” “women gotta fuck women,” “people gotta fuck people.” Subject – Verb – Object.
Left behind in this concept are asexuality and people who do not conform to a certain smooth norm of desire—for example, the elderly, people who are overweight, people with disabilities… to name just a few examples of what bodies can be. People who do not adhere to the “gotta fuck” principle are stigmatized through “prude-shaming.”
The two counter-movements:
Sex-positivity
is a progressive, resistance-based grassroots movement that speaks openly about sex and whose primary opponent is sexual moralism, because it combats the stigmatization of any sexual act, as long as it is consensual. The liberal notion that consent is the key to liberated sex is important in theory, but it can overlook the many real-world circumstances in which individuals are socially entangled.
The subtle enemy is prescribed sex, which can, however, easily take over sex-positive scenes. Combating sexual moralism works in a direct, if not simple, way. Resisting the subtle and seductive nature of prescribed sex is more difficult and requires cooperation with sex-negative (trans)feminism, or critically supportive stances toward sex (positivity).Sex-Negative (Trans)Feminism / Critical-Solidarity Stances Toward Sex:
These are progressive, resistant, bottom-up movements that speak openly and honestly not only about sex, but also about the close intertwining of sex and power.
The goal is liberation from both sexual violence and patronizing pressure to have sex.
Sex is criticized not on moral grounds, but on political ones. In doing so, the focus is always on problematizing structures, not people. Sex-negative strategies, for example, do not ask, “Is prostitution inherently bad?” or “Are people who make or watch porn sick?” but rather ask, much more pragmatically, “What is needed to ensure that pornography or prostitution does not create relationships of violence?” and answer with, “Fair pay and rights.”
The primary enemy is prescribed sex. Sex moralism attempts to align itself with sex negativity. The difference, however, is quite clearly the sex-moralizing, misogynistic, hateful, and patronizing approach, which is vehemently rejected by sex negativity.
The relationship between sex positivity and sex negativity is complicated. In some cases, sex-positive advocates distance themselves from sex-negative advocates, especially when they label and confuse this movement with sex moralism. However, the two need not be enemies—in fact, it would be worthwhile to listen to sex-negative or sex-critical voices with less paranoid skepticism and not immediately lump them in with Alice Schwarzer, because there are far more nuanced voices out there (Meg-John Barker, Kitty Stryker, Lisa Downing, Lisa Millbank, Andrea Dworkin…).
And of course, this is just a model right now, and most people with a feminist agenda will fall somewhere between sex-positive and sex-negative practices and use different terms there (e.g., “sex-reflective”). After all, using nuanced language could provide us with a more helpful set of conceptual tools to avoid falling for the tricks of the insidious forces around us and to cooperate in a more sisterly way.
“Let’s revisit the rules of sex, given what we’ve explored here:
[Common rule] Sex is essential: a defining feature of ourselves and our relationships. → [Rewritten Rule] Sex can be wonderful, but it doesn’t need to define us or our relationships. It can ebb and flow throughout our lives, or be completely unimportant to us.
[…] We need to communicate openly about what we do and don’t want—with ourselves and with the people we’re involved with—recognizing how assumed scripts and power imbalances can restrict consent.”
– Meg John Barker – Rewriting the Rules, 2018.
The announcement text for the presentation in the Sexolution Conference program:
Sex Positivity * Sex Negativity * Sex Moralism * Compulsory Sex
I first encountered sex-positivity as a movement that made it its mission to finally make the world understand that sex is something good, healthy, and normal. That this world is too sex-negative, full of taboos and shame, because it treats sex as something bad, dirty, and sinful. At first, that sounded convincing, and it felt like an important mission to help carry the banner—not just at the Slut Walk.
Over time, though, I started asking questions. For example, is sex negativity really the enemy? The insidious forces surrounding us aren’t actually that repressive when it comes to sex; instead, they constantly encourage us to have sex. Sex positivity, as a rallying cry, suddenly became an ineffective weapon against these forces when creative stress, pressure to perform, and patriarchal patterns sneak in on the sly—even as we’re actually experimenting with a different, more pleasurable way of life.
Ironically, I discovered a more helpful set of concepts precisely in a context where people were playing with ideas like “Prude Walks” and reinterpretations of “sex negativity”—which, funnily enough, seemed much more sex-positive to me than unquestioned “sex positivity.”
In this keynote presentation, we will first draw on the radical transfeminist writings of Lisa Millbank and the sex-critical concepts of Kitty Stryker and Lisa Downing to propose terms that are more suitable for political analysis than the tiresome “sex-positive/sex-negative binary, and then to connect theory with practice and engage in an open discussion about our (joyful and disappointing) experiences in sex-positive communities.
About
Beate Absalon is a doctoral candidate at the University of Art and Design Linz and currently a junior fellow at the International Research Center for Cultural Studies in Vienna. Her research and teaching in the field of (audio-)visual culture and cultural studies aesthetics focus primarily on the representation of “other” states, such as childbirth, the grieving process, sleep, masking, or sadomasochistic practices.
Her doctoral project examines the creative processes involved in media that shape attitudes toward sexuality and explores what it means when sexuality is portrayed as something one can possess, learn, and improve—or as a kind of refuge in which people experiment with unconventional ways of life that do not necessarily exclude uncertainty, vulnerability, and contradictions. But what does such sex education look like? (https://www.aesthetik.hu-berlin.de/de/andere-aufklaerung/)
As part of the collective “luhmen d’arc,” she leads workshops on forms of playful, inventive intimacy and bodywork. She particularly enjoys exploring the peculiar qualities of “kinky” practices and scenes: To what extent are they silly, rebellious, creepy, healing, artistic—or perhaps none of the above?
