You know, this debate really demonstrates the value of the LPSG. Naughty_girl posts an innocent question, and it reveals a common experience in many lives that would not be discussed openly otherwise. And the discussion seems to have touched a nerve or two, in a good way.
(Hence it's a long post. More provocative stuff! Apologies.)
Rob and Jeff, I want to thank you both for your spirited rebuttal of my post--you make excellent points, all of which I respect. I made value judgements, and they seem to be values that many don't share.
Are these value judgements personal? I wonder about that. Maybe they're generational. Jeff, at 24, you're a Gen Y. Rob, at 38, you're a Gen X. And at 49 (as of today, BTW) I'm a late Boomer. Amongst my generation, sexual liberty is a symbol of personal empowerment. Does that colour my opinions? Sure does.
For the depression/war generation, the symbol of personal empowerment might have been the ability to live in peace and security. Or for young adults today, it may be financial independence or professional autonomy--not answering to a boss or fitting into a system. It may be the ideal of personal authenticity. Indeed, these might be much worthier values to pursue than the mere freedom to get your end in. Granted.
Whether I'm a spokesperson for my generation, or just loudmouthing my own damn opinions, let me make an impassioned plea for romantic love. It has a place in everyone's life.
Not just for the sake of making babies. Plenty of romantic love makes no babies. 99.9% of all straight bonks don't, and 100% of gay ones don't.
This brings us to a very telling bit of language. Rob, ol' pal, let's interrogate the phrase procreatively autistic. I used the term autistic in its literal sense. Detatched from personal relationships. Uncomfortable with (and even upset by) human interaction.
You're right. I am procreatively autistic, but in a very different way from what you think.
I was sperm donor in college. My brother was in med school and the authorities nagged all the able-bodied boys to help out with a donor shortage. He nagged me in turn, noting unkindly that my dick seemed otherwise put to no good use.
So, I created babies in a literally autistic way. With an impersonal, emotionally unintelligent, clumsy human exchange. The nearest I came to touching the heart of a real, live human female in the whole shebang was noticing the embarassment on the nurse's face as she exited the cube, pointing to the stack of Playboys on the coffee table "...in case you need some, er, help."
Of course, I was sexually autistic, too. So detatched and uncomfortable with sex, that I scarcely stopped to wonder why the Playboy wasn't working.
That said, the urge to procreate, lurking in the back of my mind, had been sated. I take great pride that there are young men out there with my receding hairline, and young women who will develop a headbang backache, probably in pregnancy. They're moderately tall, good with words, have mediocre pitch and excellent spatial perception. They might just play a mean game of tennis. They need to watch their weight. The men will sit on their large testicles if they're not careful. I fret that some of them may not be loved. If sex is about the urge to procreate, then it's a done deal.
But sex is something else, too. Here's my Darwinian take on it. It's about control.
Staying in control, generally, is a good thing to do. Our desire to control our environment has served us well, in an evolutionary sense.
But it's taxing. We need to loosen the reins, from time to time. To do that, you need to feel safe. Safe in the arms of another human being you trust. How many times have we heard romantic love described in terms of reckless abandon? Dammit, it feels good to let go.
And if you're going to raise children, two trusting lovers who create a safe haven in each others' hearts, will create a safe and loving family. Kids teach us much about love: just try staying emotionally contained in the presence of a child, especially your own.
If you let yourself go with someone you don't/can't trust, that's dangerous. Many people actually get off on that kind of danger, I understand.
(A side-bar conversation: Rob, I'm genuinely interested in your BDSM experience as it relates to all this. Trust, danger and safety issues must loom large. What changed in your life that made you want to give it up? Does it inform your asexuality in any way?)
How do asexuals let go?
Maybe they don't need to let go. Maybe they feel secure in their lives and hearts already. Maybe they feel safe, in their own sense of self. No need for someone else to reassure them. Maybe they have other passions. Maybe, like the Big Dirigible, they have really, really good hobbies--any kind of play, helps you let go.
Or, maybe they're so tightly wound that they have trouble letting go. That they feel the risk of a trust betrayed is so great, that they don't feel they can afford to take it. HIV helped cement this belief; sex risked more than illegitiimate babies and burning discharges; it risked death. Even though it's laughably easy to reduce the risk to near zero. This cultural climate reaches its zenith in modern America. It is a climate of personal distrust, reflected in one of our most basic urges.
In such a climate, the coiled spring bursts out of the box in other ways--as several noted; depression, drug abuse, neurosis, et al.
It troubles me that this day and age devalues romantic love. Independence and responsibility for one's self take the front seat, while the bonds between human beings seem to offer little strength in the grand scheme.
Of course, there are some kinds of romantic love that have earned their place in the trash can. Knight-in-shining-armour-style romance is sexist and bogus. And offers a bum deal to both genders. The gal surrenders power and the guy never gets to relax. It's an emotional desert.
Rather, let's celebrate the playful, goofy, head-over-heels, Singin'-in-the-Rain-type romance that makes us remember what life is for.
OK, Jeff, asexuality isn't like anorexia, in that nobody will drop dead of horniness tomorrow. But what of the slow death which comes from being lonely?
In my asexual days, I convinced myself that just because I was busy and had lots of good friends, that I wasn't lonely. As you point out, there's "nothing wrong" with an active life in which you seek enlightenment through scholarship, intelligent discourse, and trade in the currency of ideas. But there's an enlightenment that you must discover within your own soul, and love helps you find it.
Many have pointed out that being asexual, at least for some periods in your life, "feels right". From that, they argue it's a sexual orientation like any other. Not sure I totally buy it, but no one can dispute the right of people to be comfortable in their own skin.
One can't argue the need for romantic love logically, either. Scholars have tried and failed. But poets succeed.
On the wall in the Anglican church rector's office where I sometimes attend meetings, there's a sign. It reads God will hold us accountable for legitimate pleasures we have not enjoyed.
Or as Coco Chanel once said, "There's a time for work and a time for love. That leaves no other time."
