This is a paper I wrote for a class on Christian Sexuality. I hope it proves edifying to you. Note that there are footnotes on citations 14, 15 and 18 which may help to clarify certain points.
Thank you for reading. I hope you too will see the urgency of the task before us, the need to provide everyone with a unique language necessary for living into healing narratives and relationships.
"In
Embodiment, James Nelson
argues that sexual and religious questions are not mutually exclusive
from one another as many traditions maintain, but rather inform and
color each other necessarily.
Our sexuality conditions and affects our theology, and vice versa.
This conditioning has a multitude of factors, not least of which is
the power of the God-image on the sexually developing being. In what
follows, I will explore the interplay between faith and sexuality,
first providing personal and historical context, then arguing that
God need not be related to in a way that is detrimental to the sexual
unfolding and happiness of the individual. Drawing from my own
context and Nelson, I will propose a sexual theology wherein the
traditional power dynamic between humanity and the divine is inverted
to reflect an authentic sexual communion surrounding submission and
dominance. I will conclude that faith ought to be a matter of
claiming a healing narrative and then living into a healing
relationship, both with fellow sexual beings and with God. This will
all begin with some personal and historical context on the subject.
Much ink has been spilled on establishing, defining and enforcing
the normative God-images of western Christianity. Whether it is God
as Father, God as Lord, God as Husband or God as Judge, the symbolic
language by which we refer to the divine has concrete implications
for how we live as embodied beings, particularly with regard to
sexuality. Sometimes these implications are positive, sometimes
negative. In my case, they were negative. Growing up, there was no
sexual theology in place to make sense of my traumatic experiences.
The
early family life of which I am cognizant was not very life-giving.
My parents were unhappily married. They spent most of my childhood
fighting, and while my mother was loving, she and my father both left
me to my own devices. I discovered masturbation and sexuality almost
entirely through pornography, as my father was too belligerent and
abusive and my mother did not think it her place to explain male
sexuality to her son. I was left in the dark. All I had to go on was
my natural attraction to the opposite sex.
Partly due to fundamentalist Christian influence and partly because
of my toxic relationship with my father, I saw God as an authority
figure who said he loved me even when his behavior suggested that the
condition for his love was total obedience. My father said he loved
me, but I did not feel loved. God made me feel guilty and unworthy.
Again, I was left to my own devices, and many days were spent alone
before God, repenting but never experiencing absolution. God was
Father and Judge, and neither God-image had a positive impact on me.
The salt in the wound was that I was constantly told how vital
relationship with God was, but I did not desire any such relationship
with my Heavenly Father, let alone my earthly one. Needless to say,
the God-image of Father did not facilitate my development, but rather
nurtured my sense of hurt and resentment. My faith was stunted, and
my sexuality developed according to what pornography taught me,
leading to sexist dualisms that estranged me from my emotions.
Neither my family nor my faith community contributed to my sexual or
theological development. I had no context, and until college, I
played along. God was Father, but I did not desire relationship with
him, and sexual release only happened secretly on a computer screen
late at night.
Looking back on the historical context of western Christianity, it
is not surprising that my faith community and parents taught me
nothing about sexuality. From the days of the overwhelmingly
influential Saint Augustine to the present, Christianity has taken a
more or less negative view of the human body and sexual relationships
that take place outside of marriage (or for purposes other than
procreation). This is largely attributable to Augustine. In his mind,
sexual acts are sinful by nature and distort the loves and wills of
humanity, transmitting the original sin of Adam and Eve like a
biological contagion.
He is adamant on this point because it fits his experience;
Augustine's life was characterized by lustful trysts that caused more
harm than good, feeding into his sense of listlessness and inner
frustration. His sexual drive was high, and he was clearly disturbed
by the loss of self-control and willpower that occurs when engaging
in sexual acts. In such moments, the human being becomes insatiable,
attempting to feed an infinite desire with a finite good. Only God,
the infinite good, can meet this infinite desire, and trying to
replace God with sex is sinful in Augustine's eyes. Given this
association between sex and selfish, insatiable desires (referred to
as 'concupiscence'), “every sex act is not only directly connected
to original sin (for which each of us is responsible) but also binds
us more firmly to it.”
In Confessions, Augustine writes that his heart is restless
until it rests in God, who alone can satisfy his deep longing and
properly order his will, so that lust can no longer turn him from
divine love, which was waiting for him all along.
In Augustine's mind, it is not humanity who first reaches out to
God, but God who first reaches out to humanity. Even in the midst of
sin and concupiscence, God is present, never far away, always ready
to break the chains. In terms of grace and salvation, God always acts
first. This is solidified later when Augustine argues contra Pelagius
that humanity cannot abstain from sin by willpower alone, but is
always in need of divine help. In other words, the initiative is
God's alone to take. Even so, humanity is still free to pursue finite
goods in place of the infinite good:
“How long it was before I learned that you were my true joy! You
were silent then, and I went on my way, father and farther from you,
proud in my distress and restless in fatigue, sowing more and more
seeds whose only crop was grief.”
Augustine's sexual history did not bring him fulfillment and
wholeness, but rather grief. In processing his experiences, he turned
to abstinence, prescribing a sexual ethic where sex could only happen
in marriage, and then only for procreation. Thus, contraception and
sex for pleasure were condemned.
It takes only a cursory glance to see that Augustine's sexual ethic,
first written through the experiential lens of a traumatic sexual
history, is commonplace in Christianity today. The west's most
predominant Christian sexual ethic was written by a man who
ultimately gave up on embodied sexual fulfillment. In this way, it is
easy to see how one's sexual experiences can color one's theology,
and how one's theology can change the world.
Just as sexuality can color the particulars of theology, it also
gives rise to God-images. The God-image most constraining to me is
Father, which has become one of the most common God-images. It had
its origins with Jesus himself, automatically lending itself to
popularity. In first century Judaism, God was understood as a party
to the covenant between him and his chosen people, Israel. Before
that, he was the creator, the maker of all. In terms of relationship,
he was the husband, while Israel was the bride.
This marital language in theology has endured. Augustine in the 4th
century CE used such language when he described his years of lust,
during which he “broke troth with [God].”
Israelite transgression of the covenant was often interpreted in
terms of breaking troth and marital infidelity.
God was not commonly referred to as Father. However, possibly due to
his own father's death and the subsequent loss of a stable father
figure, Jesus had a moving experience where he came to know God as
his heavenly Father, claiming dignity as a Son of God (after all, in
all accounts of Jesus' ministry, Joseph is curiously absent).
This metaphor gave life to Jesus, but for me, this paternal metaphor
has become entangled in feelings of fear, hurt, resentment, and
powerlessness. It has not contributed to my sexual unfolding.
What
does contribute to my
sexual unfolding is a God-image that not only makes sense of my
experiences, but
also gives me new understanding of who God is. In the course of
discovering my own sexual characteristics, I learned that it is
erotic for me to be in a dominant role. I appreciate and enjoy the
submission of a partner because it indicates that they trust me and
value my wishes. It is an affirmation of my self-worth, a reminder
that I have control over my life and that I need not be a doormat to
anyone. It also feeds into my nurturing side, the aspect of my self
that has always wanted to be a responsible caretaker and provider.
Being dominant and assuming the position of power in sexual acts
speaks to what is good in me; it banishes my anxieties surrounding my
sense of worthlessness engendered in me by my father, and it fills me
with love for the person who first loved me enough to submit. It
makes me a fuller person, and it was only when I became sexually
active in this way that I achieved an orgasm meaningful to me. Being
in control and indulging in the moment of desire, far from corrupting
my humanity as Augustine feared, actually restored it.
This
sexual development represents a deviation from the sexual ethic
prescribed in most faith communities, which often closely resemble
Augustine's. At the same time, it is also a departure from historical
Christianity, which has always conceived of God in male terms and
then as a figure of supreme authority, not as an intimate lover. The
God-image that makes better sense to me of my sexual experiences and
general context is God as female Lover. Like Augustine, I too wasted
much time sowing seeds whose only crop was grief. But in the midst of
all my loss and heartache, I have learned that God
alone is the Lover who will never leave, the Supporter who will build
me up, the Wife who will give my labor meaning, the Seductress whose
charms will unfailingly hold my wandering gaze, and the Heart that
will always desire me, even when I feel undesirable.
Moreover,
God is the Lover who will give herself to me, not because I am more
powerful or significant, but because she knows that her submission
will make me happy. That is how much she loves me. Her submission and
the transfer of power it signifies is an affirmation of my worth as
the beloved, as a creature made in the image of God. This mode of
relating to God gives me insight into the divine; for once, the
tables are turned, and I can see God from an inverted point of view.
My
proposal for a sexual theology is precisely this: humanity is
afforded new perspective and is affirmed in its created goodness when
it allows God to be submissive and itself to be dominant. Throughout
history, God has always been the one to take the initiative, as
Augustine argued. In nearly all of the philosophical and theological
literature, God is all-powerful, dominant, all-knowing, utterly
transcendent, and always in charge. God calls the shots, and humanity
is the one who must surrender and find value in the act. I would
argue that while this dynamic is not without merit, it also cuts off
possibility and inhibits growth when it becomes the sole lens through
which the relationship between God and humanity is viewed. Nelson
writes that sexuality is “a highly symbolic dimension of human
experience,” and that to think of it as such represents a
“departure from from the heavily biological emphasis typical of
traditional natural law theory in ethics.”
By the same token, I would argue that to see sexuality as a highly
symbolic dimension of human experience also represents a departure
from the heavily philosophical emphasis on traditional metaphysical
and hierarchical distinctions between God and humanity, such as
creator and created, spirit and matter, Lord and subject. When the
relationship between God and humanity becomes one sided in this way,
it ceases to be a polarity where “two harmonious elements
essentially belonging together are yet distinguishable and may exist
in creative tension.”
The implication of God always being in the position of power and
dominance in the relationship is that humanity is always in the
position of lack of power and submission, meaning that humanity will
never fully understand the act of submission in context. Does giving
mean as much when one does not know what it is to receive? God knows
equally well what it is to dominate and what it is to submit, but in
the historically adopted paradigm of divine domination, humanity has
only ever known submission. In allowing God to submit, humanity is
given the opportunity to know another aspect of God, to touch the
divine heart, to experience union with the divine in a new and
empowering way.
The
first immediate objection is that if God submits and humanity
dominates, God is made less and humanity is lifted up beyond safe
boundaries. This need not be a concern. Nelson argues that authentic
sexual communion precludes both dichotomy (wherein fundamental
distinctions are not resolved) and absorption (where the two become
one or both lovers are rendered precisely the same, in which case
there is no polarity worth having). Rather:
In
authentic sexual communion dichotomy is overcome while polarity
remains. The body-self is united with the beloved partner. . .This
communion retains its polarity. . .In a true sexual relationship with
the beloved, I do not possess my partner. The same is true in the
knowing relationship with God.”
In
short, if a sexual relationship of dominance and submission is
entered into in good faith and loving intention on both sides, the
polarity of creative tension and the uniqueness of both dom and sub
remains untouched, regardless of whatever outward dynamic the sexual
act might imply.
The dom does not own the sub, and the sub's value or identity is not
invalidated by the dom. Real sexual communion means giving lovingly
and graciously accepting what is given, all in a dynamic of
mutuality. However the power dynamic appears on the surface, if it is
authentic sexual communion, the polarity remains. Even if God is
conceived of in the role of sub, her power, identity and majesty is
preserved. The ontological status quo between God and humanity
remains, despite the outward appearance of power transfer. God does
not become humanity and humanity does not become God; they merely
become the beloved of one another in a different capacity.
Another
objection is that the rightful place of humanity is one of
submission. This depends heavily on how one defines submission and
whether or not the act of submission is toxic for the individual.
There are those for whom submission is a return to a violent and
traumatic childhood, for whom the language of submission holds little
but trauma and sadness, just as there are those for whom the language
of dominance denies the value of submission. Everyone has different
experiences, and the language of submission will not be life-giving
to everyone. For this reason, I argue that Christianity's historical
emphasis on the value of human submission is highly contextual and
should not be taken as universally valid across the board. There will
always be those who find life in submission to God and to others, but
there will also always be those for whom submission is death.
For
those who seek to know and love God by way of the sexual theology I
am proposing, there are arguments to be made against humanity always
being in submission. When Augustine wrote that the initiative is
God's alone to take, he implied that the human being was a “receptor
only – a passive, waiting vessel who can only respond to the divine
initiative. . .Thus, the image of a passive self totally pliable
before God not only truncates the fullness of the body-self but also
impoverishes the God to whom we would respond.”
If humanity and God are lovers on a polarity, God is robbed of a
lover when humanity does not contribute to the co-creative tension,
floundering limply like a doll. There is little pleasure to be
derived from a partner who lies lifeless and still, lacking dynamism
of any kind, never giving feedback during the act. Whether dominant
or submissive, God surely desires an active partner, not a passive
receptor. If the initiative is always God's alone, then humanity is
robbed of its right to be co-creative with God, and co-creativity is
part of what it means to occupy a polarity of authentic sexual
communion with the divine.
It
goes without saying that all language applied to God is symbolic. Any
sexual theology that conceives of God as Lover in the context of a
specific sexual act is necessarily metaphorical and will not fully
encapsulate the Mystery. Equally obvious is that the language of
dominant and submissive relationship will not resonate with
everyone's experiences, sexual or otherwise. But whatever form a
sexual theology may take, it is important to recognize that sex, as a
form of human language, is “an expression of the human search for
meaning and belonging,” and that “sex for human beings is a
language of love.”
One of the first things a child in Sunday School learns is 'God loves
you.' What that love means will change from person to person, from
sexual history to sexual history, from heartache to heartache.
Many people carry a lot of pain and alienation inside of them, as
Augustine did for so many years. But where he dismissed the desire of
sexuality as inherently sinful, I would argue that sexuality and
sexual theology both ought to be about claiming healing narratives
that speak to and validate our individual stories.
At
its core, religion is about claiming healing narratives.
Unfortunately, where
there is no language in the community to give voice to their sexual
or theological experiences, people will either bear the pain silently
or look elsewhere. When the stories of the faith community do not
resonate with and make
room for the sexual self, that sexual self will be forced to find
expression elsewhere, perhaps in a subculture established around a
certain sexual act. Too often, an individual will discover themselves
sexually only to find that their faith community is not only
unwilling to celebrate that discovery, but condemns it! The simple
fact is that not only are we unable to understand ourselves apart
from our sexuality, but we also “do not have complete control over
interpretations of our sexuality; some definitions and understandings
are forced upon us. . .our sexuality is shaped by the time and space
in which we live.”
We cannot help being what we are, and we are fully justified in
wanting to find communities where aspects of our sexual-selves can
find freedom of expression. The tragedy lies in the fact that while
many find acceptance in sexual subcultures, they do not always find
that same acceptance in their faith communities or in their homes.
This is true not only of certain sexual acts, but also of sexual
theologies that go against the grain established by Augustine long
ago. I know of no church where the sexual theology I proposed could
be wholly accepted. Like many, I am forced to compartmentalize my
self, to pick and choose between membership in seemingly mutually
exclusive tribes.
There
is an urgent need for theological language that can facilitate the
synthesis between these tribes, so that people may experience both
sexual and spiritual
fulfillment, not one at the expense of the other. Whatever human
beings are, we are social and sexual, and our sexuality is an
expression of our search for value and meaning; when we find that
value and meaning, we ought to be able to share it with others! Our
sexuality informs our intimate relationships, both with people and
with God. In the final analysis, these relationships should reflect
authentic sexual communion and take forms that heal us, rather than
hurt us. They should never inhibit our unfolding as social and sexual
beings desiring intimacy and acceptance. The sexual theology of human
domination and divine submission is merely one of many sexual
theologies that need to be written. We need many more such theologies
and God-images, so that all people may own a language by which to
express their sexual experiences to both their divine and human
beloved.
Works Cited:
Nelson,
James B. Embodiment:
An Approach to Sexuality and Christian Theology.
First ed., Minneapolis, MN, Augsburg Publishing House, 1978, pp.
15-106.
Holy
Bible: New Revised Standard Version.
San Francisco, Harper One, 1989.
Beattie,
Patricia, and Darryl W. Stephens, editors. Professional
Sexual Ethics: A Holistic Ministry Approach.
First ed., Minneapolis, MN, Fortress Press, 2013, pp. 12-62.
Augustine,
Saint. Confessions.
Westminster, Penguin Books, 1961, pp. 34-44.
Hinson,
E G. The
Early Church.
First ed., Nashville, TN, Abingdon Press, 1996, p 30.
