Where to begin...
III.
In this section Butler lays out Wittig’s arguments and then proceeds to destroy them en masse. Still, Butler walks away having gained some insight with Wittig’s arguments. Butler analyzes Wittig in light of Beauvoir’s assertion that sex is “factic” and that gender is gained later on. Wittiq believes that sex, like gender is also acquired (153). Wittig sees sex as something that is politically thrust upon women, and that women become “ontologically suffused with sex” (154). With sex, because we start to see it as intrinsically “there” rather than perpetuated by a social system, it’s hard to notice how sex is created rather than just experienced.
“’Sex’ the category, compels ‘sex,’ the social configuration of bodies, through what Wittig calls a coerced contract. Hence, the category of ‘sex’ is one that enslaves” (157). This forced contract, as represented by heterosexism (?) fails to provide those outside the system with a “voice.” To speak is to take part in the discourse in which you don’t fit (158-9). A predicament to say the least. Butler starts to depart from Wittig at this point. Wittig starts to argue, in Butler’s eyes, for the lesbianizing (163) of the world. Butler’s issue with this is that such a process to achieve a universal point of view would assert a compulsory effect similar to the coercive heterosexual contract that Wittiq criticizes. Wittig feels that only a radical departure from the heterosexual will be able to rid us of the heterosexual regime (164). Butler disagrees... “Further, Wittig’s radical disjunction between straight and gay replicates the kind of disjunctive binarism that she herself characterizes as the divisive philosophical gesture of the straight mind” (165). Not only can homosexual relationships represent some of the inherent problems with the “heterosexual contract,” but also, Butler feels the force of the heterosexual regime is “not the only way it operates” (166). This approach relies to heavily on the “very terms that lesbianism purports to transcend” (169) and that Wittig’s lesbianism discourages a solidarity with heterosexual women (173).
IV.
In this section, Butler explains the effects of inscribing gender (or maybe sex, too) on the body—something I can’t claim to fully understand after reading. As such, my description here will be short. Butler states that, at least for Foucault, “cultural values emerge as a result of inscription on the body” (177). Butler connects this to Douglas’ discussion of taboos. From my perspective, this section can be described by an excerpt on page 186 when Butler brings the discussed arguments back to the sphere of gender:
“If the inner truth of gender is a fabrication and if a true gender is a fantasy instituted and inscribed on the surface of bodies, then it seems that genders can be neither true nor false, but are only produced as the truth effects of a discourse of primary and stable identity.”
The notion of gender being “neither true nor false” helps introduce Butler’s next topic: drag. We see on the following page (187) how drag, or the act of performing gender outside of one’s anatomical sex is representative of three dimensions: gender performance, gender identity, and anatomical sex. The three sets of dissonance (187) shows how “in imitating gender, drag implicitly reveals the imitative structure of gender itself—as well as it’s contingency” (187). If performance, then gender cannot be based on a preexisting attribute or act (192), indeed Butler concludes, “gender can be neither true nor false, neither real nor apparent, neither original nor derived” (193).
Conclusion:
We’re brought all the way back to how Butler opened her book. Which, I must say, is probably the best way to conclude. The feminist’s claim of solidarity among all women is a “phantasmatic construction” (194); so too is the “real” and the “sexually factic” (199). I’m likely to agree with Butler here. She sees how feminists have limited themselves with the identities that they tried to use to “open up” discourse (200-1). “The internal paradox of foundationalism is that it presumes, fixes, and constrains the very ‘subjects’ that it hopes to represent and liberate” (203).
So where do we go from here? What is the next step for feminists? Or on an even smaller scale, how do we approach the subject as a class dedicated to discussing gender? By knowing our limitations, which Butler has spelled out many times, we should be able to start to fix them—Or do we replace them entirely?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Girls want sex, boys want love
Allen center’s her article on Foucault’s assertion that whenever there is power, there is the potential for resistance (216). She develops the traditional model of heterosexuality of the New Zealand population, referring to this model as the perceived “’real’ sex” (217) Explaining that sex, like we’ve discussed in the past, is often seen as a power dynamic. Allen stresses how these roles have affected the discourse on sex and relationships among teens, age 17-19. One party, primarily the male, is seen as the active participant where the other party, usually represented by the female partner, represents the passive role. She sees this passive/active model, reflected in the New Zealand understand (partly through literature), as contributing to the perceived differences between men and women’s sexual preferences, saying:
This “construction of women and men’s sexuality is dichotomized, with women lacking erotic desire, voyeuristic tendencies and corporeal pleasure, while men are disconnected from their emotional and mental needs and desires” (218).
Allen’s study is separated into four parts: Young women and the dominant discourse of sexual behavior (passive) and young women resisting dominant discourse, and men’s discourse of dominant sexual behavior (active) and the men resisting dominant discourse.
First, Allen explains the common assertions of female sexuality. This mostly focuses on how women are “positioned as the (reluctant) recipients of male desires rather than initiators of sexual activity” (220). The “recipient” role leads to more talk about desiring love in a relationship rather than sex. A few women, or “minority” (221), resist the prescribed sexuality in favor of something more balanced, though still flawed. Allen mentions how the likelihood of their resistance may be related to exposure to the “alternative pedagogies”(221). Even though they were resisting, the women felt a need to accommodate the dominating practices, as represented by the sexual double standard (slut label). In some cases the resistance reversed the masculine and feminine roles, making the woman the dominant sexual partner. Even so, the result still focused on the active/passive sexual interplay rather than a more equal role. The women also, when describing sex, tried to emphasize the importance of a balance of physical and emotional needs (223), but did not really talk about experiencing a willing sex-only relationship.
Men also tended to identify with the dominant discourse of “male sexuality as perpetually ready for sex, virile and potent” (225). Allen considers this masculine identity as one of social experience and “to achieve full masculine status young men must separate themselves from homosexual and feminine identities” (226). The men that resisted the dominant discourse referred to sex as something that wasn’t the “most” important, but failed to see sex as something unimportant. Interestingly, both sexes appeared to be more open to resisting when in a “safe” environment. The ‘safe’-ness is defined differently for each sex, men in more of a one on one environment and women in a female-dominated environment. Also, both sexes had a tendency to both accommodate and resist the dominant discourse.
Judging by her results during her project, Allen’s conclusion suggests that the dominant view of sexuality is outdated (231). She sees experience as a catalyst for changing mentalities. Often she cites men’s experience in relationships or women’s experience with exposure to alternative forms of sexual discussion as a means of introducing resistant tendencies. I feel that Allen makes a good point here. I think that, without exposure, people are likely to not know what options are available for them to choose from. I’m not sure if I’ll agree entirely, however. Exposure alone may not be enough. In a sex education setting, as she mentions in her opening paragraphs, exposure can be extremely beneficial. Within the private sphere, I feel, exposure is unlikely to have much of an impact—it may even have an adverse effect, closing off potential expressions of sexuality.
I was curious why Allen looked to teens to discover how sex is discussed. Perhaps because she associates the dominant discourse as “outdated” she felt that older individuals would be less likely to reflect contemporary feelings toward sex. Maybe she feels that sex, or at least exploratory discussion about sex is the realm of the young while older people may have already determined where they stand on the issues. Certainly sex is a new and exciting thing in their lives (if it’s even present), but what do teens bring to the discussion?
______________________________________________-
Sorry this is late. I thought I was writing for monday.
This “construction of women and men’s sexuality is dichotomized, with women lacking erotic desire, voyeuristic tendencies and corporeal pleasure, while men are disconnected from their emotional and mental needs and desires” (218).
Allen’s study is separated into four parts: Young women and the dominant discourse of sexual behavior (passive) and young women resisting dominant discourse, and men’s discourse of dominant sexual behavior (active) and the men resisting dominant discourse.
First, Allen explains the common assertions of female sexuality. This mostly focuses on how women are “positioned as the (reluctant) recipients of male desires rather than initiators of sexual activity” (220). The “recipient” role leads to more talk about desiring love in a relationship rather than sex. A few women, or “minority” (221), resist the prescribed sexuality in favor of something more balanced, though still flawed. Allen mentions how the likelihood of their resistance may be related to exposure to the “alternative pedagogies”(221). Even though they were resisting, the women felt a need to accommodate the dominating practices, as represented by the sexual double standard (slut label). In some cases the resistance reversed the masculine and feminine roles, making the woman the dominant sexual partner. Even so, the result still focused on the active/passive sexual interplay rather than a more equal role. The women also, when describing sex, tried to emphasize the importance of a balance of physical and emotional needs (223), but did not really talk about experiencing a willing sex-only relationship.
Men also tended to identify with the dominant discourse of “male sexuality as perpetually ready for sex, virile and potent” (225). Allen considers this masculine identity as one of social experience and “to achieve full masculine status young men must separate themselves from homosexual and feminine identities” (226). The men that resisted the dominant discourse referred to sex as something that wasn’t the “most” important, but failed to see sex as something unimportant. Interestingly, both sexes appeared to be more open to resisting when in a “safe” environment. The ‘safe’-ness is defined differently for each sex, men in more of a one on one environment and women in a female-dominated environment. Also, both sexes had a tendency to both accommodate and resist the dominant discourse.
Judging by her results during her project, Allen’s conclusion suggests that the dominant view of sexuality is outdated (231). She sees experience as a catalyst for changing mentalities. Often she cites men’s experience in relationships or women’s experience with exposure to alternative forms of sexual discussion as a means of introducing resistant tendencies. I feel that Allen makes a good point here. I think that, without exposure, people are likely to not know what options are available for them to choose from. I’m not sure if I’ll agree entirely, however. Exposure alone may not be enough. In a sex education setting, as she mentions in her opening paragraphs, exposure can be extremely beneficial. Within the private sphere, I feel, exposure is unlikely to have much of an impact—it may even have an adverse effect, closing off potential expressions of sexuality.
I was curious why Allen looked to teens to discover how sex is discussed. Perhaps because she associates the dominant discourse as “outdated” she felt that older individuals would be less likely to reflect contemporary feelings toward sex. Maybe she feels that sex, or at least exploratory discussion about sex is the realm of the young while older people may have already determined where they stand on the issues. Certainly sex is a new and exciting thing in their lives (if it’s even present), but what do teens bring to the discussion?
______________________________________________-
Sorry this is late. I thought I was writing for monday.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Feminist Iconoclasm and the Problem of Eroticism
Hardy focuses on eroticism as the “public representation of sexuality” (77). He argues that our current understanding of eroticism is incapable of incorporating some of the new social constructions around gender that feminists are trying to adopt. He considers it to be “anachronistic in a world where gender order is being radically challenged” (80). Hardy explains historical influences of hegemonic eroticism, but also emphasizes that the social conditions “exceed historical memory” (81). His timeline helps to explain some of the social uses of eroticism that he describes in a section of the same name. During this process, Hardy discusses the dichotomous relationship between anti-porn, who argue that “sexual violence is culturally procured by the pornographic icon of female degradation” (78), and Anti-censorship, who see “sexual violence as more of a symptom than the source of women’s oppression” (84).
Perhaps one of his most important distinctions between two schools of thought is the separation of the psychoanalytic and social interpretations. He finds fault within the psychoanalytic focus because it “tends to view the erotic only in relation to the psychic” (79), which, he feels, “makes our erotic preoccupation with power seem less threatening and politically problematic” (85).
In responding to a text that has been called “dense” in an email by our professor, I’m afraid I may lack the intellectual capabilities to it justice. I can however focus on what I felt while reading, which I suppose, is all I was asked to do.
Looking historically at the hegemonic relationship between men and women, or this sort of willing(?) power of one sex over the other, Hardy does an excellent job explaining how some of our social constructs of gender (and, from there, sexuality) have been changed throughout time... of course, he sees his own limitations with this approach, which makes me, too, wonder how the original power dynamics came to be. He mentions the “active” and “passive” roles—I won’t elaborate—which make me remember discussion in class about finding new languages for female experience with sexuality. It is, partially, the active/passive language that persisted throughout Greek and Roman society that we base our own understanding of on sex today. What if, as mentioned by Professor Sabo in class, sex didn’t involve a penis “penetrating” the vagina, but rather a vagina “surrounding” the penis? If we were somehow able to attribute an active role to the woman during sex (at that time) perhaps ideas of sexuality would have evolved entirely differently.
Since I’m already speaking in terms of how social change could have altered historical perceptions of sexuality, I should probably look deeper into Hardy’s introduction of “social scripts” language. Hardy perceives scripts as a means of developing an adult gender identity which, he feels, is largely associated with sexual identity (86)... What does this mean? Honestly, I’m not sure, but I come to the following conclusion: if eroticism is “nothing more than an arbitrary and inherently unstable set of conventional significations” (90), it should be possible to change those conventions, especially if they are unstable.
I’m left with the feeling that, if eroticism has historically changed due to social conditions, what is stopping the next conception of eroticism from evolving from our new ways of thinking? Surely, if more and more people start supporting a more egalitarian view of sexuality, there should be a reactive change in public perceptions of the erotic. I think Hardy would argue that this is where the problem lies. He seems to suggest that we need to start in that direction—we need to claim our current position as a “starting point” and work with what we have rather than trying to start from scratch.
In Hardy’s conclusion, he wonders if a new idea of eroticism, born out of the old dichotomy of active/passive and dominant/submissive, will create an new “queer world free of the master categories of gender and sexuality, or simply a multitude of lesser categories in their place” (92). I’m more likely to side with those that think it will create the latter. Based on my own experience, it’s seems natural [my use of natural may only be proving Hardy’s point about our tendency to naturalize] for us to allocate new things to their respective boxes, no matter how small. Where once “feminism” was a box, it has since been divided in “anti-porn,” “anti-censorship,” “anti-sex,” and much more. Of course, that’s one opinion. Maybe the examples I’ve given should not be considered because they are attempts at elaboration, and are not created when such a reality exists.
Perhaps one of his most important distinctions between two schools of thought is the separation of the psychoanalytic and social interpretations. He finds fault within the psychoanalytic focus because it “tends to view the erotic only in relation to the psychic” (79), which, he feels, “makes our erotic preoccupation with power seem less threatening and politically problematic” (85).
In responding to a text that has been called “dense” in an email by our professor, I’m afraid I may lack the intellectual capabilities to it justice. I can however focus on what I felt while reading, which I suppose, is all I was asked to do.
Looking historically at the hegemonic relationship between men and women, or this sort of willing(?) power of one sex over the other, Hardy does an excellent job explaining how some of our social constructs of gender (and, from there, sexuality) have been changed throughout time... of course, he sees his own limitations with this approach, which makes me, too, wonder how the original power dynamics came to be. He mentions the “active” and “passive” roles—I won’t elaborate—which make me remember discussion in class about finding new languages for female experience with sexuality. It is, partially, the active/passive language that persisted throughout Greek and Roman society that we base our own understanding of on sex today. What if, as mentioned by Professor Sabo in class, sex didn’t involve a penis “penetrating” the vagina, but rather a vagina “surrounding” the penis? If we were somehow able to attribute an active role to the woman during sex (at that time) perhaps ideas of sexuality would have evolved entirely differently.
Since I’m already speaking in terms of how social change could have altered historical perceptions of sexuality, I should probably look deeper into Hardy’s introduction of “social scripts” language. Hardy perceives scripts as a means of developing an adult gender identity which, he feels, is largely associated with sexual identity (86)... What does this mean? Honestly, I’m not sure, but I come to the following conclusion: if eroticism is “nothing more than an arbitrary and inherently unstable set of conventional significations” (90), it should be possible to change those conventions, especially if they are unstable.
I’m left with the feeling that, if eroticism has historically changed due to social conditions, what is stopping the next conception of eroticism from evolving from our new ways of thinking? Surely, if more and more people start supporting a more egalitarian view of sexuality, there should be a reactive change in public perceptions of the erotic. I think Hardy would argue that this is where the problem lies. He seems to suggest that we need to start in that direction—we need to claim our current position as a “starting point” and work with what we have rather than trying to start from scratch.
In Hardy’s conclusion, he wonders if a new idea of eroticism, born out of the old dichotomy of active/passive and dominant/submissive, will create an new “queer world free of the master categories of gender and sexuality, or simply a multitude of lesser categories in their place” (92). I’m more likely to side with those that think it will create the latter. Based on my own experience, it’s seems natural [my use of natural may only be proving Hardy’s point about our tendency to naturalize] for us to allocate new things to their respective boxes, no matter how small. Where once “feminism” was a box, it has since been divided in “anti-porn,” “anti-censorship,” “anti-sex,” and much more. Of course, that’s one opinion. Maybe the examples I’ve given should not be considered because they are attempts at elaboration, and are not created when such a reality exists.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Raunch Culture. Intro, 1-2
Levy is particularly adept at shedding light on “raunchy” things within our society that I may have not thought twice about. Her approach, while broad, is able to hone in on common threads throughout each example. Many of her examples (possibly all of them) establish a conflict between her own definition of sexual liberation and the definitions of the women participating. From Levy’s perspective, the women participating in the exhibitionist forms of sexuality aren’t necessarily receiving as much liberation as they might expect. Levy’s objections come three-pronged (at least).
Sex has become something commercial and, in Levy’s eyes, this cheapens the expression many of these women are seeking to promote. How can you possibly be liberated by something that is inherently exploitative? Levy would agree that commodification is not synonymous with liberation, suggesting that they are even exclusionary, saying, “raunch culture is not essentially progressive, it is essentially commercial” (p. 29). Sadly, it is also this commercialism that has led to a prescribed form of sexuality. And what is sexy? Answer: whatever can sell. Breast implants, hair color, make-up... all those things that help women to a specific kind of beauty.
Another of Levy’s objections is one of contradiction. Many of the activities considered to be acceptable forms of sexual expression are exactly the types of things that earlier generations were fighting against. Where some feminists tried to ban pornography, many women are now considering pornography a type of liberation—a way to take charge of their sexuality. To Levy, this approach shifts objectification of women by men, to objectification of women by themselves.
Let’s assume for a moment that “raunch culture” is the proper form of liberation; Levy’s argument in chapter two shows the current flaws in such an expression. Sexual expression, or even sexiness in general, is still the domain of women. It’s heavily one-sided. When referring to Katie Couric Levy says, Referring to Couric – “Proving that you are hot, worthy of lust, and—necessarily—that you seek to provoke lust is still exclusively women’s work” (p. 33). And it’s true. It’s not often you hear of a man trying to “show more leg” in an attempt to seem appealing as well as professional.
This is something that we hear over and over again. The women in Playboy, for example, are mentioned as having lives that are separate from their photo shoots. Professional lives. The shoot, for them, is supposed to be a means of expressing that they can be sexy too, or in addition, to their normal life. As real women they are able to be both professional in their conduct and in charge of their sexuality. Levy is quick to point out that this “I can be sexy too” mentality doesn’t really live up to the expectations of the posing women. In a magazine no one will see the real women—it doesn’t extend to the readers that are unaware of the woman’s personal life, they only get the part of the women presented on the page. The product, then, is unbalanced. It only providing the reader with “sexy” and no “too.”
After reading, I'm left with the feeling that any outward expression of sexuality is a potentially hazardous thing. I don't believe this to be Levy's intention. To what extent are we (or perhaps just women) allowed to publically display their bodies? Maybe that's not the proper question... What reasoning would a woman need to embrace certain parts of "raunch culture" without perpetuating many of the problems that Levy points out? Should she ever?
Sex has become something commercial and, in Levy’s eyes, this cheapens the expression many of these women are seeking to promote. How can you possibly be liberated by something that is inherently exploitative? Levy would agree that commodification is not synonymous with liberation, suggesting that they are even exclusionary, saying, “raunch culture is not essentially progressive, it is essentially commercial” (p. 29). Sadly, it is also this commercialism that has led to a prescribed form of sexuality. And what is sexy? Answer: whatever can sell. Breast implants, hair color, make-up... all those things that help women to a specific kind of beauty.
Another of Levy’s objections is one of contradiction. Many of the activities considered to be acceptable forms of sexual expression are exactly the types of things that earlier generations were fighting against. Where some feminists tried to ban pornography, many women are now considering pornography a type of liberation—a way to take charge of their sexuality. To Levy, this approach shifts objectification of women by men, to objectification of women by themselves.
Let’s assume for a moment that “raunch culture” is the proper form of liberation; Levy’s argument in chapter two shows the current flaws in such an expression. Sexual expression, or even sexiness in general, is still the domain of women. It’s heavily one-sided. When referring to Katie Couric Levy says, Referring to Couric – “Proving that you are hot, worthy of lust, and—necessarily—that you seek to provoke lust is still exclusively women’s work” (p. 33). And it’s true. It’s not often you hear of a man trying to “show more leg” in an attempt to seem appealing as well as professional.
This is something that we hear over and over again. The women in Playboy, for example, are mentioned as having lives that are separate from their photo shoots. Professional lives. The shoot, for them, is supposed to be a means of expressing that they can be sexy too, or in addition, to their normal life. As real women they are able to be both professional in their conduct and in charge of their sexuality. Levy is quick to point out that this “I can be sexy too” mentality doesn’t really live up to the expectations of the posing women. In a magazine no one will see the real women—it doesn’t extend to the readers that are unaware of the woman’s personal life, they only get the part of the women presented on the page. The product, then, is unbalanced. It only providing the reader with “sexy” and no “too.”
After reading, I'm left with the feeling that any outward expression of sexuality is a potentially hazardous thing. I don't believe this to be Levy's intention. To what extent are we (or perhaps just women) allowed to publically display their bodies? Maybe that's not the proper question... What reasoning would a woman need to embrace certain parts of "raunch culture" without perpetuating many of the problems that Levy points out? Should she ever?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Excitement
I’m really excited to be taking this class. I’m not entirely sure what to expect from it, though. I’m mostly looking forward to discussions. Many other courses for women’s studies are popular as interest courses (i.e. Human Sexuality, Intro to Feminist Theology) and draw in many people trying to get GEs out of the way. It’s not very conducive to conversation. A class full of Women’s Studies majors seems promising.
The readings look like they’ll keep me interested throughout the semester. A lot of them I would have read on my own time (if I had the luxury of leisure reading). I was happy to see that I already owned some of the books though, sadly, didn’t get a chance to finish one of them yet. There’s nothing like mandatory reading to coerce me to start paging through books that I actually want to read.
I’ve been lucky enough to take a large amount of WS courses here and I think a majority of them will help me with this class.
- Intro to Feminist Theology helped me learn deconstructive criticism methods, finding the flaws in how we use language—which is tremendously helpful for various types of feminist analysis.
- Philosophy and Feminism brought me up to date with major legal issues surrounding women’s rights as well as a deeper understanding of the different schools of feminist thought. (ex. Radical vs. Liberal)
- Media in Contemporary Culture promotes viewing media with a skeptical eye. This approach is extremely beneficial when talking about modern influences and the subordination of women.
- SARN, and the training that comes with it, will hopefully give me a little insight about modern “domestic” issues and how we (society) address/perpetuate common forms of oppression.
The readings look like they’ll keep me interested throughout the semester. A lot of them I would have read on my own time (if I had the luxury of leisure reading). I was happy to see that I already owned some of the books though, sadly, didn’t get a chance to finish one of them yet. There’s nothing like mandatory reading to coerce me to start paging through books that I actually want to read.
I’ve been lucky enough to take a large amount of WS courses here and I think a majority of them will help me with this class.
- Intro to Feminist Theology helped me learn deconstructive criticism methods, finding the flaws in how we use language—which is tremendously helpful for various types of feminist analysis.
- Philosophy and Feminism brought me up to date with major legal issues surrounding women’s rights as well as a deeper understanding of the different schools of feminist thought. (ex. Radical vs. Liberal)
- Media in Contemporary Culture promotes viewing media with a skeptical eye. This approach is extremely beneficial when talking about modern influences and the subordination of women.
- SARN, and the training that comes with it, will hopefully give me a little insight about modern “domestic” issues and how we (society) address/perpetuate common forms of oppression.
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