Iqra’i

This afternoon was the Sex & Spirituality panel discussion, with Dawn Eden, Judy “I Could Have Tantric Sex With Anyone In This Front Row And It Would Be Just As Deeply Meaningful” Kuriansky, Susan “Jewish Pagan Ethical Hedonist Bonobo” Block [NSFW], and Stevie “Don’t Say On Your Website That I’m Gay” Jay. There was another woman, whose name I have written down as Jane Bernard, but Google is unhelpful in finding a link for her. (EDIT: Dawn is more competent than I; Jane Bernard’s website is here.) I am endlessly amused by the fact that, to Yale (or at least the Sex Week coordinators — Dara keeps reminding me that it is not, in fact, a University-run event), “spirituality” means four New Agers and a Catholic.

Apparently, “spirituality” also means a great deal of attention paid to chakras and tantric sex (Kuriansky), “deeply meaningful” moments of true soul-to-soul connection with much-younger men one never sees again (Jay), love-ins (Bernard), and giving away Lust et Veritas g-strings (Block), with a token actually religious person to serve as brunt for random ad hominem attacks. (Least objectionable comment about Christianity from Dr. Block: “I find Jesus on the cross to be incredibly erotic, half-naked as he is.” Come on — he’s suffering for your sins, because he loves you, and his shirtless torso is the best part?) It was rather jarring to go from a brief characterization of Catholic sex ethics to an enthusiastic description of the “cosmic” experience that is tantric sex. Apparently, it’s all about breathing.

I spent thirteen years at Quaker school, where chakras and namastes featured much more heavily than papal encyclicals, so I was much more eager to hear about religious takes on romance and sexual ethics. Unfortunately, Sex & Spirituality wasn’t about the spiritual consequences of sex, or the ways in which one’s religious or spiritual beliefs play into sexual behavior or our (in my opinion, deeply disturbed) sex culture — except for the few times Dawn Eden managed to get a word in, the discussion was about how having sex (apparently it doesn’t matter with whom, as long as you’re breathing right) can bring you closer to God.

And then it was time for questions.

I asked the panelists if they would address the role of relationships within their frameworks, which seemed to focus (as much of Sex Week does) on sex as an avenue towards nothing higher than pleasure. I wanted someone to talk about the ways in which the hookup culture on college campuses removes sex from the sublime realm in which it ought to reside. I wanted someone to talk about the importance of a loving, trusting relationship for sex. (I don’t go as far as Miss Eden — it is possible to have such a relationship outside of marriage.) Stevie Jay had quoted someone, early on, as saying that Playboy had “taken the fig leaf off the genitals and put it on the face.” I’ve talked before about the disconnect between sex and emotion, and the ways in which Sex Week’s valorization of pornography furthers this; I wanted someone to address that from a spiritual, if not religious, perspective.

Unfortunately, the only thing anyone seemed to hear in this was a criticism of Sex Week. The panelists were horrified that I could ask such a question/imply that Sex Week was not about relationships/suggest that the kinds of relationships they were discussing (i.e., the kind where all that matters is what kind of sex you’re having, rather than anything emotional) were less worthwhile, etc. They talked over each other, assuring me that Sex Week was, in fact, about virtue and love as well as about sex.

When they finally quieted down (not having really answered my question), a man from the audience took the stage. He was, apparently, the founder of Sex Week, and thus an alumnus, and he was very, very angry with me. This, he told me, was not the place to question the purpose of Sex Week. I was not to talk about this now — there was a time for feedback at the end of Sex Week. Moreover (he did not actually use that word), Sex Week was, in fact, about relationships.

“Then why is it sponsored by pornographers?” Dawn Eden asked.

This is a reasonable mistake: Sex Week is sponsored by a sex toy company, not pornographers. The pornographers are merely welcome guests, who have been invited to share their “message.” (Their message: “Buy our pornography.”)

The planners may be worrying about the Fox News coverage; at any rate, this year’s organizer (also in the audience) got angrily to his feet to deny that Sex Week had taken any money at all from the pornographers, and he was tired of Sex Week being attacked, etc. etc. etc.

Clearly, as a small girl with a pen and Dawn Eden’s disposable camera (I think I got a pretty good shot of Dr. Block with the g-strings…) I was a horrible threat to Sex Week, probably because of my membership in the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy. Luckily, Stevie Jay rescued me at this point, suggesting that I had not, in fact, come so close to arguing that Sex Week was an abomination before man and God as the reaction might have suggested. I allowed as this was the case, the two angry men looked somewhat sheepish, and things went back to normal, for a given value of normal.

For an event that prides itself on its heterodoxy (”Look at us! We have porn stars! We’re so hip we can barely see over our collective pelvis!”), the Sex Week planners are remarkably sensitive to anything even close to criticism. Dare I hope they’ve seen the error of their ways and regret at least the porn stars? Or do they simply object to anyone who gets in the way of their duckstepping?

Coming soon: A long post about why both Dr. Judy’s tantra and Socrates’s maieutics fail as ways of doing love for the same reason. (This is a sneaky way of working on my Symposium paper but pretending it’s topical.)