Noli Irritare Leones

“Dressing or putting on one’s clothes is a moral act and wearing them is a moral act.” says Bishop Yanto of the Amarillo Diocese, and promptly gets favorably linked by Dawn Eden, critiqued by Jill of Feministe in Well, There Go My Plans For a Catholic Nudist Colony, and, in a more Bible-oriented post, by Hugo Schwyzer, and defended by the Curt Jester and the Anchoress (“Wanna talk Wimmin, Modesty and Prudish, Oppressive Catholics?”).

If you ask me, dressing or putting on one’s clothes is a social act, and wearing them is a social act. Like any social act, it can involve some element of moral choice. When the family friend that Bridget Jones is obliged to address as “uncle” tricks her into showing up at his party in a bunny outfit, only to find that she’s the only woman at the whole party who wasn’t told the theme was changed, he is, in Christian terms, sinning against charity in her regard (as well as being an old lech). And when John Woolman took to wearing undyed clothing in protest against a slave-supported dye industry, he was making a moral statement.

Still, it’s a little weird for me when people on the socially conservative end of the Christian spectrum, Catholic or Protestant, start talking about clothing and morality by suggesting that people are violating the Ninth Commandment (“You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife” ) by what they wear. Kat, in one of the more moderately critical of the comments at Feministe, observes:

Well, I go to church somewhat regularly and I have seen young people wearing belly shirts, mini skirts, board shorts, flip-flops, tank tops, sweatpants, undershirts, etc. I happen to live by the beach, so things are more casual here then in some parishes, but there have been a lot of raised eyebrows especially by the older parishioners. It wasn’t so long ago that men had to wear suits/ties and women had to wear head coverings to Catholic mass. When I was in high school, jeans were frowned upon but have become more acceptable.

I have been wondering when an issue would be made of it from the pulpit, it seemed like it was coming. I just think if the Bishop had said “hey, don’t be such a slouch, put on a clean shirt and show some respect” I wouldn’t have a problem with him. Its the misuse of the scriptures to back his case that makes me cringe. Because, as Jill said, these statements “indicate that men shouldn’t leer at women” and do not give instruction on how to dress appropriately for Mass, and yet the women seem to be getting the bulk of the admonishment from the Bishop.

Contrast that with the commenter at Dawn Eden’s place, who seems to be both reading the minds of the young women in question, and expecting them to read the minds of the men around them:

Revealing dress…
Women know (if they don’t it’s time for a reality check) that men are made to be visually receptive…more than women. I figure that women wear what they wear to be noticed, not because they don’t have anything else to wear.

Yes, women know that men are visual. Yes, on some occasions, we dress to be sexy to men. But that doesn’t mean we’ve got an automatic pipeline to what you think is seductive, or that, every time we put on the sort of clothes all the other women our age are wearing, we’re deliberately enticing you to lust. You don’t know that, until the young woman in question has given you a bunch of other cues. I, for one, spent years when I was younger carefully making sure I wasn’t at all seductive, in my eyes, by covering my breasts in as unrevealing clothes as I could manage, while completely ignoring the possibility that any guy might find my legs the least bit attractive.

And, after all, the bishop himself seems to be talking more about clothing that’s unfitting to the occasion of Mass than about clothing that’s intrinsically immoral to wear outside the house at all:

Dressing or putting on one’s clothes is a moral act and wearing them is a moral act. There are different appropriate modes of dress for different occasions, e.g. in the privacy of our home, with our spouse only or with our children in our home, at work or school, in mixed company, at the lake or swimming pool, grocery shopping, at church, etc.

Right now, on a warm Southern California day, I sit at my computer in not particularly short shorts and a tank top. I could take my middle-aged body to the local grocery store in this outfit, and I doubt even the good bishop would suspect me sinning against my neighbors by provoking them to lust after me. But if I were to go to Mass, I’d change, because I wouldn’t want, in Kat’s phrase, to look like a slouch, or disrespectful.

But that choice is not about my assumptions about what inspires lust in other Mass-goers. Sure, I don’t deliberately try to entice my fellow Christians to immoral acts. But I assume the men I’d see in Mass aren’t any more lustful than the men I’d see at the grocery store, and I also assume that if, say, one of my teenaged nieces were at Mass in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, she’d not be responsible for any lust she might inspire in one of the icky Catholic schoolgirl uniform fetish set. It’s not about my being responsible for other people’s feelings; it’s about what I would want to communicate.

Nate Nelson has moved yet again, but I’m going to be commenting instead on a post at his recently retired blog, Gadfly of Thought. In another of his leaps, Nate began the blog having almost made up his mind to leave the Catholic Church, quickly changed his mind back to staying Catholic but dissenting with the church’s teaching on homosexuality, and now seems to have not only converted back to trying to follow the Church’s teachings on sexuality, but switched from Democrat to Republican in the process. In a recent round up, Nate links a post by Dreadnought on Gay Priests, Seminarians, Effeminacy, and Broken Wrists, which I found interesting enough to link as well, but won’t comment on, and a post at Feminine Genius which asks “where are the feminists” on the issue of female genital mutilation.

This is something that bugs me no end; I’ve been hearing for decades from feminists about what women suffer in other countries. It was feminists, for example, who sent me appeals about what the Taliban was doing to women, long before 9/11, and long before anyone else seemed to care about the matter. Yet, despite this, I never stop hearing “where are the feminists” arguments from people who haven’t taken any time, seemingly, to find out what actual feminists are saying. As if feminists, and feminists alone, were all wrapped up in domestic issues and oblivious to the rest of the world. Nate, I still like you, conservative though you’ve become, but when you agree with this argument, and add, “It’s too bad that all modern feminists care about is abortion rights, gay rights, and gender confusion; otherwise, they might channel some of their energy into this,” well, I beg to differ.

Where are the feminists? Well, would you concede that Alice Walker, the author of The Color Purple, is a feminist? She’s both written a novel and produced a documentary film on the subject of female genital mutilation. Where are the feminists? Would you agree that the National Organization for Women is a feminist organization? Here’s a fact sheet by them on the practice of female genital mutilation. Where are the feminists? Here’s a post from just last month at popular feminist blog Feministe on the topic of female genital mutilation and how it increases the risk that mothers or their babies will die in childbirth. Finally, I’ll point you to this 2004 article by Katha Politt on ongoing feminist activity regarding a variety of worldwide human rights issues involving women.

Now, I’m sure Nate would prefer that US feminists dropped all their activity regarding abortion, and redirected those resources to, well, not only to female genital mutilation, but even to pretty much anything else. But it’s not accurate to say that feminists have been ignoring female genital mutilation, not by a long shot.

Chairm at The Opine Editorials asks whether supporters of same-sex marriage agree with a statement made at Hugo Schwyzer’s blog that “Pro-feminist men ought to be adamant that whatever the imperious demands of our flesh, the human will is stronger still.” Sure, I’ll agree – with some qualifiers and caveats. I don’t think we should overestimate our will power when it comes to “the imperious demands of our flesh,” and sex in particular, and I think that part of behaving well is doing your best not to put yourself in situations where you’ll have trouble controlling yourself. But in the context in which Hugo’s speaking, he’s quite right; we may be “hardwired” to desire many things, but we have the ability to control our behavior, and men shouldn’t pretend that their desires are so much more overwhelming than women’s that women are obliged to take the bulk of responsibility for managing men’s behavior as well as their own. Likewise, I can choose to be faithful to my husband, whatever other men or women I may desire, and he can similarly choose to be faithful to me, whoever else he may desire.

The thornier question is when such self-control should involve lifelong celibacy (which I think actually is a mode of life to which some people are called), and when people following another standard for their sexual life (as most people quite properly hope to do).

Eve Tushnet points me to my new favorite ex-gay blogger, Disputed Mutability, as she responds to Eve’s series on the ex-gay movement. Cool stuff on trying to yank Heaven down, salvation-through-pantyhose, parental reactions to a child’s homosexuality, why the ex-gay movement is mostly a Protestant phenomenon, and putting homosexuality on the back burner when doing evangelism. Just a few comments on parts of her post.

I am officially on the “anti-pantyhose” side. I think the emphasis on gender stereotypes is misguided even by mainstream exgay theology’s own lights. After all, they believe that a key cause of same-sex attraction is feeling insecure in one’s gender as a child. Well, what better way to make kids (or adults) feel insecure and inadequate in their gender than to set forth a very rigid notion of what it means to be a woman or a man, which will likely be hard for them to live up to or feel comfortable with?

Yes, this is one of the things that particularly bugs me about salvation-through-pantyhose. Particularly since I, personally, feel more adequate in my gender the further I get from rigid gender roles. (Paradoxically, I even feel a lot more physically attractive in my forties than I ever did when I was sixteen – I’m not in high school any more! It doesn’t matter so much that my sense of style sucks!)

Nonetheless, I think there’s a kernel of truth in the pro-pantyhose position for some women, probably including Ms. Fryrear. I know there are many women who are cool with themselves as women but just don’t like the girly stuff, and that’s great. But I also know that there are some other women who don’t like the girly stuff because they are uncomfortable with themselves as women. For these women, I think their discomfort with pantyhose (or whatever) might be a dragon that needs slaying, as part of embracing and accepting themselves as women, as God created them. Of course, I wouldn’t put any pressure on anyone. God showed me what I needed to do when I needed to do it, in no uncertain terms.

In my case, what I found was that I got more comfortable with some of the girly stuff once I felt freer to pick and choose. I hate pantyhose! I hate shaving my legs! But put my in a long, flowing, embroidered dress where you don’t notice so much my lack of pantyhose and my unshaved legs, and I can be sort of girly. I even now own pink things, and have found I look good in some shades of pink, now that I can sort of separate “pink” from all the connotations pink used to have of things that I just don’t want to be or do.

So some guy named John wrote to Tushnet wondering about why the ex-gay movement is overwhelmingly a Protestant thing. (But let’s not forget Joseph Nicolosi! And that lovely jewel of a statement from the Vatican a while back–as far as I’m concerned, once you’ve declared that homosexual attractions are necessarily a manifestation of spiritual and emotional immaturity, you’re nine-tenths of the way to the very worst kind of ex-gay viewpoint.)

True. The difference between Protestant and Catholic here is a matter of degree, rather than absolute (but still striking).

Do I have an alternative answer? I don’t claim to know the exact whys and wherefores, but in my humble opinion the biggest reason by far is this:

Protestants have no meaningfully fleshed-out concept of intentional, joyful celibacy to work with. Period.

Thus, we have to change homosexuals’ orientations and marry them off, because we don’t have any real alternatives for them.

Yes, this was my thought, as well. Where this was brought home to me was some years ago, when I was talking with some Mormons (who have even less of a place for a positive celibacy, in their worldview, than evangelical Protestants) about homosexuality, and found them struggling to find a place for people whose orientation might not change. One option is Rex Goode’s way – a Mormon man who apparently continues to be attracted mainly to men, but stays married to the only woman he’s ever managed to be sexually attracted to. Understandably, this path is a really, really hard sell to gay and lesbian people.

So what do you do, if you have a really, really super-marriage-oriiented theology, with people who seem not to be able to marry? For some Mormons, the answer is the millenium. Christ is going to come back, and they’re already expecting to be working overtime during the millenium baptizing and sealing all the dead people they haven’t gotten to yet. Why not hold out the hope that people who have been unable to marry in this life can get sealed for the next life?

Of course, this looks a bit odd, when you’re coming to the discussion from an amillenial background. But what I find in talking with Mormons is that encountering assumptions very different from my own throws into relief the ones I did grow up with. And so, finding a theology where it would make sense to marry people off in the millenium made me realize how differences in Catholic and Protestant attitudes toward marriage and celibacy also influence the difference in receptiveness to the ex-gay movement. Because evangelical Protestantism has only slightly more room than Mormonism for a joyfully celibate life, and sealing people in the millenium just doesn’t work as an evangelical Protestant solution.

Our great celibate role-models (Amy Carmichael, John Stott, etc.) were all accidental celibates who were earnestly hoping to get married until it was simply too late.

Evangelicals do acknowledge that a tiny handful of people are called to lifelong “singleness”, but we generally seem to think that those people will have such special grace and revelation from the Lord (in accordance with their exceedingly rare and special calling) that they will know what to do and how to handle it themselves without any advice from mere mortals. So it’s treated like a mysterious superpower, and not spoken about much. If you’re struggling sexually, you weren’t meant to be celibate. A suitable spouse will be coming along shortly, have no fear.

I wonder about this. On the one hand, I do tend to default to assuming that people are struggling sexually, they weren’t meant to be celibate. And that this should also be true of larger groups. If the Catholic Church, say, is really meant to have a mandatory celibate priesthood, then that priesthood ought to be able to live that celibacy as a sign of grace, rather than a sign of failure and scandal.

On the other hand, pretty much everyone struggles, to one degree or another, with any choice. Marriage is a struggle. Cheerfully consensual polyamory is a struggle. Some things are more of a struggle than others, but perhaps even the choice to which you’re most called will be a struggle. So, maybe some people are struggling sexually, and still, for whatever reason, are meant to be celibate.

Father Jake reports dissension in the Episcopal dioceses that have been requesting alternative oversight, including my sister’s diocese of Pittsburgh, about whether alternative oversight is really wanted. Also, as you’ve probably all seen by now, while I was on the other coast, the Church of England took the first step toward women bishops.

*Christopher has an interesting discussion of different views of grace and original sin (another post where I wish I could think of something to add right now, but I can’t, so I’ll just link it).

And Father Jake discusses Rowan Williams’ “The Body’s Grace,” written back in 1989, well before he became archbishop, which reminded me that I’d never finished reading that essay. And it’s worth reading. So I’m taking a look at it again.

Most people know that sexual intimacy is in some ways frightening for them; most know that it is quite simply the place where they begin to be taught whatever maturity they have. Most of us know that the whole business is irredeemably comic, surrounded by so many odd chances and so many opportunities for making a fool of yourself; plenty know that it is the place where they are liable to be most profoundly damaged or helpless. Culture in general and religion in particular have devoted enormous energy to the doomed task of getting it right. In this address, I want to try and understand a little better why the task is doomed, and why the fact that it’s doomed, is a key to seeing more fully why and how it matters – and even seeing more fully what this mattering has to do with God. And to conduct this exploration in this context may turn out to have a particular “rightness” about it, as I hope may be clearer by the time I’ve finished.

And this business about “the doomed task of getting it right” is the first thing I like about the essay, because this sort of mixture of rightness and flawedness is so much closer to how I’ve experienced my own life than anything where rightness could be easily and thoroughly separated from what’s damaged and flawed and helpless.

So for my desire to persist and have some hope of fulfilment, it must be exposed to the risks of being seen by its object. Nagel (p 47) sees the whole complex process as a special case of what’s going on in any attempt to share what something means in language: part of my making sense to you depends on my knowing that you can “see” that I want to make sense, and telling you or showing you that this is what I want implies that I “see” you as wanting to understand. “Sex has a related structure: it involves a desire that one’s partner be aroused by the recognition of one’s desire that he or she be aroused.”

All this means, crucially, that in sexual relation I am no longer in charge of what I am.

And again, something that I first started reading because I was curious about what place Williams would make for same-sex relations becomes interesting to me more for what it has to say about sex in general.

Trying for the moment to bracket out the much corrupted terminology of norms and ideals, it seems that at least we have here a picture of what sexuality might mean at its most comprehensive; and the moral question I suspect, ought to be one of how much we want our sexual activity to communicate, how much we want it to display a breadth of human possibility and a sense of the body’s capacity to heal and enlarge the life of other subjects. Nagel’s reflections prompt the conclusion that some kinds of sexual activity distort or confine the human resourcefulness, the depth or breadth of meaning such activity may carry: they involve assuming that sexual activity has less to do with the business of human growth and human integrity than we know it can have. Decisions about sexual lifestyle, the ability to identify certain patterns as sterile, undeveloped or even corrupt, are, in this light, decisions about what we want our bodily life to say, how our bodies are to be brought in to the whole project of “making human sense” for ourselves and each other.

To be able to make such decisions is important: a conventional (heterosexual) morality simply absolves us from the difficulties we might meet in doing so. The question of human meaning is not raised, we are not helped to see what part sexuality plays in our learning to be human with one another, to enter the body’s grace, because all we need to know is that sexual activity is licensed in one context and in no other. Not surprising, then, if the reaction is often either, It doesn’t matter what I do [say] with my body, because it’s my inner life and emotions that matter” or, “The only criterion is what gives pleasure and does no damage”. Both of those responses are really to give up on the human seriousness of all this.

They are also, just as much as conventional heterosexist ethics, attempts to get rid of risk, Nagel comes close to saying what I believe needs saying here, that sexual “perversion” is sexual activity without risk, without the dangerous acknowledgement that my joy depends on someone else’s as theirs does on mine.

What’s perverse to me is how we come to know sex: that for so many of us, our earliest experiences of someone seeing us in a sexual way are precisely those in which we’re not subjects, in which our wants don’t seem to matter at all. For me it was first the obscene phone call, from the man who, I’ll never understand why, got his kicks from talking to a child about oral sex, and listening to that child reply, “Huh? What?” (it wasn’t till after I’d hung up the phone that I finally managed to figure out what he’d been talking about), and then the lift from the man I’d mistaken for someone my mother knew from church, the long conversation in which he kept trying to persuade me to go somewhere with him, and I kept pleading that my mother expected me home, hoping he’d listen, and wondering it I could defend myself with my math textbook if he didn’t.

And these came years before I ever got to know what it was like to be pursued by someone my own age, who cared whether I returned his feelings, rather than just seeing my as a receptable for his desires. Small things, because in both cases I got away without damage – but still. But what’s interesting in this particular definition of “perversion” is that, at the same time that it really resonates with my experience, it occurs to me that some relations that no one usually calls “perversion” as such really do involve failure to recognize the human seriousness of the other person, sometimes even more than acts people might see as more obviously perverse.

And there are still so many things I haven’t read while I was gone that I think I’ll be forced to just skip past most of last week’s blog posts. Monday I’ll be back to vaccinations, looking at changes in the prevalence of diseases for which vaccinations are now available.

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 15th, 2006 at 1:54 pm and is filed under Blogwatch, Feminism, Sexuality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.