Transformation of Intimacy 5, 6, and 7

Chapters 5, 6, and 7 all seem to deal with Giddens notion of addition with a majority of the addiction arguments expressed in chapter 5.

Immediately, in regards to sexual addiction, I’m hesitant to take Giddens at his word. I think that my image of him was skewed so much during chapter 5 that I was unable to attack his writing throughout the rest of the other two chapters.

Sexual addiction is a highly debated thing. Giddens acknowledges some of the issues involved in defining “excessive sex” as an addiction, but tries to emphasize the possibility of an addiction in light of how addiction is defined; this especially evident in his comparison of sexual addiction to food addiction on page 77.

I’ll do my best not to focus entirely on this chapter, but based on my personal conflict with it and the importance of seeing potential for sexual addiction found within the following chapters, I’m more inclined to talk about it here and make passing comments on the others.

Defining someone as addicted to sex has inherent flaws. Where Giddens supposes that the existence of an intrinsic desire to have sex does not presuppose an inability to become addicted to it (77), I feel he is also insisting that, for one to be addicted to sex, they must have a larger appetite for it than the norm. As of now, and probably forever, there can be no system that explains the “normal” sexual appetite. As such, is there no position from which to argue that someone is having too much sex, or as it follows, become addicted.

The crux of Giddens argument seems to be that sexual addiction is a behavior that represents his 7 descriptive parts of addiction (the high, fix, time out, giving up one’s self, sense of loss, perception of ‘special’ nature of the event, and self-disgust—pp. 72-3). Most notably the self-disgust, or the persistent feelings of shame accompanying the action (77), appear to indicate when the activity constitutes addiction rather than compulsion.

Still, here, I have trouble with his hypothesis. Surely, participating in an action that you feel compelled to do and regret afterward is a sign of addiction, but I think that when we take addiction outside the realm of chemical dependency (alcohol, etc.) we need to alter some of the defining characteristics of addictions. In class we’ve seen many reasons why a woman may feel ashamed of her sexuality. Doesn’t it make sense that someone, more specifically a woman, who indulges in her sexuality, is likely to encounter social pressures that tell her to feel badly about it? Gidden’s argument is limited by the narrow scope of his statement. I may even go so far as to acknowledge a “sex addiction” (which I won’t at this time), but that doesn’t impede my goal of recognizing the social influences that may have contributed to the behavior. Furthermore, we see in this chapter Giddens’ focus on women as sexual addicts because of the social perception of men as having differing sexual compulsions (79). I think that is assertion that, socially, allowable sexuality changes between the sexes should also conjure questions about the validity of his own arguments about the female addict’s process of remorse after a sexual encounter.

I wonder after all of the comparisons to Alcoholic’s Anonymous when we should start to consider how to “correct” unhealthy sexuality. It seems to me that the 12-step programs lend themselves to interpretations that leave out the possibility of still practicing the habits that they’ve demonized. For alcohol, this means that one tries to acquire sobriety by means of no longer drinking. Ever. Should the same be applied to sex? Can it? What does the abandonment of sexuality do to cure a person? It seems to me that a person would, after the program, need to find a way to start behaving in a sexually “healthy” way. This begs the question: what is a healthy sexuality? As a class we’ve seen some of the dangers of trying to define any sort of normalcy regarding sexual desires. Even if we did know what sort of sex was normal, based on the way that we dissected Levy and CAKE, I’d say that what appears normal is not necessarily the most healthy and conversely what is the most healthy may not be considered normal.

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Well, I seem to have failed to bring in the other chapters in my arguments. I’ll do my best to sum the chapters up now.

The beginning of chapter 6 seems like a lesson in stereotypical romance novels when describe the “female roles” which he wisely puts into quotation marks. Giddens quickly starts talking about codependency using the addiction language introduced in the previous chapter. The trouble is, for me, that I haven’t accepted the language in the previous chapter as true and, therefore, cannot take what he says at face value—this is more of a personal reflection than an actual critique of his work.

Giddens makes a distinction between the codependent relationship and a fixed relationship. The former represented by an individual being tied (psychologically) to another person and the latter as represented by someone who is addicted to the relationship itself (89).

His argument then strays toward feelings of intimacy and the loss of self that occurs within an addictive relationship (92) and then moves quickly to the Freudian examination of self as defined through childhood. This is where I get a little lost with his argument. Not only do I think that he’s swinging a little too far out of the bounds of his discussion, but I’ve been lead to believe, and indeed believe myself, that many of Freud’s assertions are errant, or at least need major revision.

Within chapter 7, I’m mostly drawn to Giddens claim of male sexuality as episodic. More specifically, I’m interested in Giddens argument about pornography as representing the episodic nature of men’s sexuality. He says “the images of women in soft pornographic magazines... re objects of desire, but never love”(119). He continues “they excite and stimulate and, of course, they are quintessentially episodic” (119). Does this explain male sexuality even in a general way? Was this an attempt to explain the use of pornography as being useful, or at least mildly complimentary, to men’s sexuality? I’m not sure how I take it, or even if those are any of the ways for it to be taken. Furthermore, and this I won’t talk about, does this episodic sexual tendency lead to the violence that Giddens describes in the rest of the chapter?

Self-made Man: chap 6-8

The remainder of the book talks about Ned’s experience at work, a therapeutic men’s group, and a final reflection of Norah’s performance as Ned.

Work:
Norah’s workplace encounter seemed to validate her suspicions of men’s interaction. Then again, that’s sort of what she was trying to find. The “Glengarry Gelen Ross” environment she was searching for is one of extreme competition and money grubbing. This also gave her the opportunity to where a suit, which she looks back on fondly, almost, as a way to empower her Ned persona, contributing to the powerful feelings she originally associated with men as a whole.

Self:
Norah’s infiltration of the men’s group gave, what she assumes to be, some of the most revelatory experiences she had during her experiment. Unfortunately, it also contributed to the most guilt ridden performance of Ned during the year, causing her to have a “break down,” leading to passive suicidal tendencies eventually leading her to commit herself to a mental hospital.

This chapter explained to her, in a way that the chapter on dating began to tell, the hegemonic tendencies of both male and female roles in society. This is where she sees her assumptions of men as the willing benefactors of patriarchal dominion fall apart. She realizes those men, just as women do, have to play the role that society has provided them. In this sense, men can’t be full persons any more than women, who have generally been seen as the victims of patriarchy, were allowed to do. It sums up her understanding of women as "codeterminers in the system" on page 272.

Journey’s End:
This is perhaps the most loaded chapter of her book, intentionally so. Though only a few pages long, it compiles a list of all of the things that she has learned throughout the year. She

I’m curious about her revelation at the end. Her break down evoked a response that seemed to reaffirm biological differences between men and women. I’m not sure if I agreed entirely or if I thought that the experience of pretending for that long might have induced the panic she felt.


She talks a lot about how much of Ned was acting the part. She mentions how being Ned was much more psychological than it was physical—how she, if carrying herself as Ned, was called a man regardless of exterior alterations (276). Mostly, though, her experience made her uncomfortable because of the performance aspect of living. I think that this draws Butler into the argument. We, essentially, had a self-identified woman “playing” a man. She was, like all of us, performing gender. This performance, which she “didn’t like” (275), kept her from acting out every aspect of herself.

I’m left thinking that her entire experiment taught her more about the dangers of stifling one’s personality rather than providing a closer glimpse on the opposite (for her) sex (gender?). Still, she starts to understand the “male” position—insofar as there can be a male experience, just as Butler shows the inherent flaws of feminism claiming to represent all women—in ways that I wouldn’t have given her credit for prior to reading the book. I thought that she pegged my own experience in some ways, mostly in the dating chapter, which I assume is at least a little representative of the male population.