## 1. Conceptual Issues


### 1.1 Sexual Desire



The concept of sexual desire is a central concept in the philosophy of
sex, one connected to other central concepts, especially sexual
attraction, sexual pleasure, sexual motives, arousal, and sexual
activity (all of which make an appearance in the discussion below). It
refers to a biological capacity that human beings have to be attracted
to others and to seek sexual pleasure and activity, and it refers to
specific instances of desiring specific people or activities (when,
e.g., *X* experiences sexual desire for *Y*).



Five broad issues are prominent regarding sexual desire: (1) whether
it is merely a biological drive, an intentional mental state, or both;
(2) how it should be defined; (3) whether it is benign or malignant;
(4) whether acting on it should be morally restricted to particular
contexts; and (5) whether it admits of perverted forms. (Section 2
discusses (4) and (5).)



Definitions of sexual desire in terms of sexual pleasure seem to
understand sexual desire as basically an appetite. On one such
definition, "sexual desire" is "desire for contact
with another person's body and for the pleasure which such
contact produces" (Goldman 1977, 268) or "sexual
desire" is "the desire for certain bodily pleasures"
(Primoratz 1999, 46; see also Halwani 2020; Soble 1991, 139-151
and 1996, 83). Thus, if *X* feels sexual desire, then
*X* desires the touch of another person's
(*Y*'s) body and the sexual pleasure derived through that
touch. An alternative definition avoids the conceptual involvement of
another person, understanding sexual desire instead as desire for
sexual pleasures, period. This accommodates cases in which the desire
is not for the touch of another's body: some cases of
masturbation, voyeurism, and exhibitionism, for example.



These views have in common the idea that sexual desire is desire for
brute bodily pleasures, possibly implying that sexual desire is merely
a biological appetite. If so, they face the objection that they
mischaracterize the nature of sexual desire, which should instead be
understood as intentional through and through (Morgan 2003b). That is,
whenever *X* sexually desires someone or something, *X*
does so under a description: *X* desires *Y* because
something about *Y* appeals to *X*. Even when *X*
desires anonymous sex, *X* desires "the pleasure of
anonymous sex" (Morgan 2003b). On the intentional view, sexual
desire is no mere appetite but thoroughly infused with meaning.



Although the intentional view need not insist on the conceptual
requirement of another person, its most common instantiation is the
idea that sexual desire is interpersonal--that the agent's
sexual desire always seeks fulfillment with another person, or at
least always ought to seek fulfillment with another person.
Interpersonal sexual desire involves the "marshalling and
directing of animal urges toward an interpersonal aim, and an
interpersonal fulfillment" (Scruton 1986, 289) and might be
thought to involve multiple levels of awareness: *X* desires
*Y*, desires that *Y* desire *X*, desires to be
aroused by *Y*'s desire of *X*, and so on (Nagel
1969). Some have thought it should, additionally, be directed to love
(Scruton 1986: 339; cf. Giles 2008, ch. 3). A normative view that
sexual desire *ought* to be interpersonal or interpersonal in a
specific way might be rejected as an account of what sexual desire
*is.* To be an account of what sexual desire is, an
interpersonal account would need to articulate a normatively neutral
interpersonal view.



The pleasure view of sexual desire, however, is not committed to
understanding sexual desire as mere appetite. For example, if
*X* wants to masturbate, *X* is not being led by blind
instinct; *X* can be thinking, "I look forward to
enjoying the sensations of rubbing my clitoris with my favorite
vibrator as I fantasize about having sex with my neighbor." In
other words, "sexual desire can be focused or selective at the
same time as being physical" (Goldman 1977, 279; Halwani 2020,
124-127).



The intentional view is plausible in that sexual desire can be quite
complex and that its complexity is not captured well (or at all) by
the pleasure view, given that human mentality infuses our most basic
urges and appetites. But it depends on what we want the pleasure view
to accomplish. If it is meant to capture the "essence" of
sexual desire, the two are compatible with each other; if it is meant
as a detailed description of the depth, complexity, and variety of the
phenomenon, the pleasure view falls short. Given that definitions are
not usually meant to convey the complexity of what they define, we
should not expect a definition of sexual desire to be a full-blown
theory of it, and we can agree that sexual desire is a complex
phenomenon.



This does not mean that the pleasure view of sexual desire is correct,
only that its aim or strategy need not be misguided. Indeed, depending
on how it is stated, the pleasure view might be wrong. For example, if
it conceptually ties sexual desire to sexual pleasure obtained through
the touch of *another person*, sexual desire would then be
necessarily interpersonal and might implausibly render many sexual
desires as nonsexual, such as some masturbatory desires, voyeurism,
and exhibitionism. Furthermore, the touch of another
*person*'s body implies that zoophiliac desires are
nonsexual. Necrophiliac desires would also be nonsexual if
"person" refers to a living person. A non-interpersonal
definition--for sexual pleasures, period--avoids such
implications (Soble 1991 and later editions of the essay, the last
being 2013a; Halwani 2018b, ch. 5).



Even a non-interpersonal pleasure view might face difficulties
stemming from understanding desire in terms of what it *seeks*
(sexual pleasure). Calling the approach that defines sexual desire in
terms of what it seeks the "object-based strategy,"
Rockney Jacobsen raises difficulties with it (2017, 30). One is
defining "sexual pleasure" (see below), which the
object-based strategy needs to do to be complete (2017, 33). Second,
Jacobsen rejects the idea that all sexual desires are for sexual
pleasure, giving the example of a couple who has sex to have a baby,
not for pleasure (2017, 33; see also 1993). Third, our sexual partners
would in principle be dispensable if there are other ways to attain
the pleasure. This third objection is not moral--that we use our
sexual partners as mere instruments--but ontological: sexual
pleasure cannot be the only or common goal to all sexual desires
otherwise the agent would be indifferent between the available ways of
attaining sexual pleasure. Since this is not true, Jacobsen concludes
that sexual desire is not solely for sexual pleasure (2017, 33).



Jacobsen prefers the "feature-based" approach, which
defines "sexual desire" in terms of "sexual
arousal," which is the state of being turned on (and that we
often find ourselves in), manifested in erections, lubricated vaginas,
flushed faces, and "tingling earlobes" (Jacobsen 2017, 35;
cf. Shaffer 1978; see also Jacobsen 2006, 226-227). So when
*X* sexually desires something (another person, an object, or
an activity), *X* desires it because it has a feature that
*X* expects to affect *X*'s sexual arousal
(Jacobsen 2017, 36). The feature-based strategy is supposed to be
superior to the object-based one because it does not face the
above-mentioned three difficulties.



The feature-based view, however, might pass the buck: either
"sexual arousal" means what we usually mean by
"sexual desire" (the examples of sexual
arousal--erections, lubricated vaginas--might serve equally
well as examples of sexual desire), or it does not. If the former, we
would still need a definition of "sexual arousal," much
like we needed a definition of "sexual desire." If the
latter, we would need an account of what "sexual arousal"
is, because if it is not the same as sexual desire, what exactly is
it? Referring back to erections and lubricated vaginas will not do,
because we may ask, "Why aren't they states of sexual
*desire*?" So defining "sexual desire" in
terms of sexual arousal might be convincing only if we can understand
"sexual arousal" independently of "sexual
desire" (Halwani 2018b, 170-171).



Jacobsen's example of the couple having sex to procreate merits
discussion. Jacobsen intends it to be a case of sexual desire but not
for sexual pleasure. However, the example is under-described because
the desire can be understood as the nonsexual desire for procreation.
To better address such cases, it is useful to distinguish sexual
motives--motives to engage in an activity to experience sexual
pleasure--from nonsexual motives, such as to conceive a child, to
make someone jealous, to exact revenge, and to pass the time. One can
argue that if the couple in question indeed experience sexual desire
for the act or each other, their nonsexual motive for procreation does
not replace their sexual motive and can be added to it. Although
people can have sex from purely nonsexual motives (e.g., many cases of
sex work), once we postulate the presence of sexual desire, the motive
of seeking sexual pleasure is present. Motives for having sex, like
motives for nonsexual activities, can be mixed, involving sexual and
nonsexual ones.



One reason for the insistence on the sexual motive in understanding
sexual desire is that if sexual desire is partly a biological or
physiological state (even if in human beings it is also a mental,
intentional state), it exerts its pull even with the presence of
nonsexual motives (see Dent 1984, ch. 2; see also Hamilton 2001, ch.
9; Webber 2009). Another reason is that without the motive for sexual
pleasure, the idea of sexual desire becomes so broad as to refer to
any desire for sexual activity, with the danger of obfuscation: we
would have to understand a sex worker's desire for sex with a
client as sexual, whereas in fact it is solely financial.



Sexual desire's pull supports pessimist views of sexual desire.
Although pessimism and optimism have moral implications - some
of which are addressed below - they are based in how pessimism
and optimism perceive the nature of sexual desire. Pessimists consider
sexual desire morally dangerous and threatening to our rationality
(including Christian philosophers such as Augustine and Thomas
Aquinas, Plato, Kant, and Schopenhauer [1859, ch. 44], and, among
contemporary philosophers of sex Alan Soble, whose views in
"Sexual Use" [2013b; 2017b; 2022c] imply with some
certainty that he is also a pessimist). Optimism considers sexual
desire as generally benign and as bringing people together (it
commands a large majority of the philosophers of sex, including
Bertrand Russell 1929, *passim*; Irving Singer 2001,
*passim*; and Martha Nussbaum 1995, 1998), though it recognizes
that it can be morally problematic (Morgan 2003a). The issue, then,
between pessimism and optimism concerns not whether sexual desire
*can be* morally problematic, but whether it is so by its
nature (Soble, with Halwani 2017, 5-8).



Sexual pessimism can be deep. Jean-Paul Sartre's version is that
sexual desire aims to capture a person in their entirety through their
body. To do so, the agent must also make him or herself pure flesh by
allowing sexual desire to "clog" their consciousness
(Sartre 1943 [1956, 504]). Thus, "I make myself flesh *in the
presence of the Other in order to appropriate* the Other's
flesh" (Sartre 1943 [1956, 506]). Another version of deep
pessimism is Kant's, which considers sexual desire to be for the
sexual parts or body of another person, not the person's
"work and services" (Kant 1930 [1963, 163]; see also 1797,
6:424-6:427; see below the moral implications of this view).
Sexual desire sets aside another's humanity and targets their
flesh. This does not mean that in desiring *Y*, *X*
would be as happy with *Y*'s corpse or with *Y*
unconscious as with *Y* alive (as Shrage and Stewart [2015, 6]
claim); for *X*, *Y*-dead is not at all equally
preferable to *Y*-alive. It also does not mean that during sex
*X* treats *Y* as an object with no desires or interests
of *Y*'s own. Instead, *X* treats those interests
as merely instrumental to the satisfaction of *X*'s
sexual desires (Halwani 2018b, ch. 8; Soble 2013b, 2017b; 2022c; see
also Herman 1993; O'Neill 1985; Papadaki 2007). A phenomenology
of sexual desire seems to support the above views, according to which
in sexually desiring *Y*, *X* is attracted to the
bodily, physical attributes of *Y*.



Sexual optimists claim that although sexual desire can be morally
dangerous, it need not be and is usually not. They agree that it
focuses on the body but do not see this as a problem. Sex intimately
and pleasurably brings two (or more) people together. It is a force
for good, establishing trust and strengthening human bonds. Unlike
appetites,



> 
> 
> sexual interest ... [is] ... an *interpersonal*
> sensitivity, one that enables us to delight in the mind and character
> of other persons as well as in their flesh... [S]ex may be seen
> as an instinctual agency by which persons respond to one another
> *through* their bodies. (Singer 1984, 382; see also Goldman
> 1977, 282-283; Russell 1929 [1970, *passim*])
> 
> 
> 



For the optimist, Soble notes, "Sexual pleasure is ... a
valuable thing in its own right, something to be cherished and
promoted because it has intrinsic and not merely instrumental
value" (Soble, with Halwani 2017, 8).


### 1.2 Sexual Activity



It is difficult to define "sexual act" or "sexual
activity." Various proposed criteria face difficulties (Soble
2006a). This is especially so when closely related concepts (e.g.,
"having sex") do not have the same extension. In ordinary
language use, and according to some studies, people distinguish
between having sex and sexual activity; they count many activities as
sexual but not as having sex, such as solo masturbation, cyber-sex,
and even oral sex (Soble 2006a,: 15-16). Solo masturbation
counts as sexual activity and as a sexual act, but not as having sex,
though Soble has recently argued that solo masturbation is on a
continuum with other forms of sexual activity, both physically and
psychologically (2022a). There are a few criteria to define
"sexual activity" (Soble 2006a). One criterion is
reproduction: for an activity to be sexual it has to be or aim at
being reproductive. This faces obvious counter-examples, such as
same-sex sexual activities and heterosexual oral and anal sex (Soble
2006a, 18-19). Another criterion is bodily contact: sexual
activities are those that involve contact with sexual body parts
(though we need to figure out what these parts are). This fails as a
sufficient condition (doctors sometimes have to touch patients'
genitals) and as a necessary one (achieving orgasm during a phone-sex
chat) (Soble 2006a, 19-20).



Sexual pleasure is a third criterion: "Those activities ...
are sexual ... which give rise to sexual pleasure" (Gray
1978, 191-192). But the production of sexual pleasure is not
necessary because many acts do not produce such pleasure; and this
criterion conceptually rules out non-pleasurable sex (Soble 2006a,
21-22). It might also not be sufficient: a man might see someone
on the street and feel a twinge of sexual pleasure (Soble 1996, 130).
The presence of sexual pleasure in this case does not suffice for the
man's experience to be sexual activity (perhaps if the man
continues to look the experience becomes a sexual activity because of
his intention to keep looking; Soble 1996, 130).



Another criterion is intention, though we need to figure out what the
intention is for. One reasonable candidate is "the intention to
produce sexual pleasure in oneself or in another." But this is
not necessary: two people who have sexual intercourse to procreate
engage in a sexual act. The experience, if any, of sexual pleasure is
a *by-product* of the action (Soble 1996, 132). This criterion
is also not sufficient. Suppose that *X* intends to produce
sexual pleasure in *Y* by "whistling
'Dixie'," but what *X* does is not a sexual
act (Soble 2006a, 22).



Another criterion for defining "sexual activity" is sexual
desire:



> 
> 
> sexual desire is desire for contact with another person's body
> and for the pleasure which such contact produces; sexual activity is
> activity which tends to fulfill such desire of the agent. (Goldman
> 1977, 268)
> 
> 
> 



A "sexual act" (or "activity", in
Goldman's terms) is activity "which tends to
fulfill" sexual desire.



The definition sounds right: what *else* is a sexual act if not
one that satisfies or "tends to" satisfy sexual desire?
But it faces counter-examples. Consider a sex worker performing
fellatio on a man: while fellatio fulfills or tends to fulfill the
man's sexual desire, it does not fulfill or tend to fulfill the
sex worker's sexual desire if she does not desire the client (as
is often the case). Thus satisfying sexual desire is not necessary for
an activity to be sexual. Whether it is sufficient depends on what we
mean by "satisfaction" or "fulfillment." If it
means "the desire is no longer felt for the time being" or
"the desire is gone," satisfying sexual desire would
*not* be sufficient. Taking a cold shower, a powerful sleeping
pill, or even focusing on something else might get rid of the sexual
desire, yet these activities are not sexual. If "satisfying
sexual desire" means, "the desire achieves its goal"
(which is sexual fulfillment), satisfying sexual desire by a
particular activity *would* be sufficient for that activity to
be sexual, but the definition becomes circular. The criterion of
sexual desire, then, does not succeed in defining "sexual
act".



By the above criteria, a definition of "sexual activity"
is hard to find. One crucial reason might be that what we commonly
think is a sexual act does not depend on one criterion: behavior,
intentions, contact with specific body parts, etc., play a role
depending on the context. This reason motivates a disjunctive
definition, according to which an activity is sexual if and only if it
is done from a sexual motive, it tends to fulfill sexual desire, it
involves contact with the genitalia (or sexual body parts) or one or
more of the parties to the activity, or it behaviorally fits
paradigmatic cases of sexual activity (this is just one example of a
disjunctive definition). Whether such a definition succeeds depends on
various factors, such as that each disjunct is itself philosophically
unproblematic, the list of disjuncts is exhaustive, and the definition
is not too unwieldy to be plausible or useful.



Another reason why a definition of sexual activity is hard to find
(and one that might go against a disjunctive definition) is that there
are many concepts closely related to each other that nonetheless
commonly mean different things. "To have sex" or "to
engage in sex" almost always refer to sexual activity with at
least one more person, whereas "engaging in a sexual
activity" and "having a sexual experience" do not
have this reference, and they are not common expressions. Thus,
defining these concepts is tricky if we want the definitions to agree
with common linguistic usage, or if we rely on such usage to formulate
these definitions. More worrisome, if we need to define these concepts
for help with practical, moral, and legal issues, the rift between
them and common language should give us pause.


### 1.3 Sexual Pleasure



"Pleasure" refers to various phenomena: (a) physical
sensations, with specific bodily locations (e.g., scratching an itch);
(b) enjoyment, as when one takes pleasure in solving a jigsaw puzzle
or lying under the sun (enjoyment does not have a specific bodily
location, though the same phenomenon can be experienced as sensation
and as enjoyment (e.g., lying under the sun); (c) a "pure"
feeling that is felt all over but has no specific bodily location, and
that need not be focused on a particular activity, such as being
elated (Goldman 2016, 88); and (d) an attitude, to be "pleased
at something"; the belief that what one is pleased at is good
(Goldman 2016, 83-90).



We thus have four types of pleasure: pleasure-as-sensation,
pleasure-as-enjoyment, pleasure-as-feeling, and
pleasure-as-pro-attitude. All four concepts can be relevant to sex,
but the first two are especially important, because each can be a type
of sexual pleasure, whereas the third is typically consequent to
sexual activity and the fourth is an attitude about sex. (a) The
pleasure of orgasm is an obvious example of the first, and (b)
enjoying sexual activity is a usual experience that people undergo.
(c) One can experience elation because of having had great sex, and
(d) one can feel pleased at that (Halwani 2020, 111-122).



Moreover, one or more parties to the act might experience
pleasure-as-sensation, yet not enjoy the activity itself ((a) and
(b)). One can experience the pleasurable sensations of sex and enjoy
the act, yet feel repulsion at the act later and be displeased with
oneself at having engaged in the act ((c) and (d)). We can also see
how each pleasure has its opposite when it comes to sex: one can feel
painful sensations during sex (e.g., anal penetration), one can endure
a sexual act (not enjoy it), one can feel nausea at what one has done
sexually, and one can have a negative attitude at one's sexual
activity.



Although orgasm does not exhaust the pleasures of sex, there is
something to the idea that the pleasure of orgasm is unique. As a
sensation, it is unique in the way it feels and in its intensity,
though this feeling might differ between men and women, especially
since women seem to experience various types of orgasm (Meston et al.
2004, 174-176; but see Wallen and Lloyd 2011, 780-783).
Moreover, it contrasts with other sensation-pleasures in its
physiological aspects and ability to be produced through genital
stimulation. For example, the sensation of having one's ear
licked is not *as such* a pleasure and depends on whom one
thinks is licking it. But the sensation of orgasm is not like this,
which makes orgasm a pleasure that cuts across social layers, a bodily
sensation unmediated by social meanings or concepts; "the trait
of female orgasm [is] a physiological trait or reflex, not a social
trait" (Lloyd 2005, 48). Of course its frequency, significance,
and meaning vary socially, culturally, and contextually (Blair et al.
2017; Janssen 2007; Mah and Binik 2002). This feature of orgasm might
explain how we can speak of sexual desire across times and cultures as
a unified phenomenon, even though sexual desires and bodily sensations
are socially and linguistically mediated.



If the pleasure of orgasm is unique, why do people usually prefer sex
with someone else to masturbating, given that masturbating produces
orgasms, often more intense than partnered sex? This shows that orgasm
is not the only pleasure sought in sexual activity, not that its
pleasure is not unique. Touching, smelling, kissing, and licking, for
example, are other goals of sexual desire (Soble 1996, 85-86).
We can even claim that people prefer the pleasure of orgasm
*through* the other goals just mentioned.



The discussion of sexual pleasure is important in itself and, as we
have seen, for understanding "sexual desire." For example,
according to Igor Primoratz, "sexual desire is sufficiently
defined as the desire for certain bodily pleasures, period"
(1999, 46). But which bodily pleasures? One answer is
pleasure-as-sensation: those "experienced in the sexual parts of
the body, i.e., the genitals and other parts that differentiate the
sexes" (Primoratz 1999, 46). More generally, and accounting for
sexual pleasures not located in the genitals, sexual pleasure



> 
> 
> is the sort of bodily pleasure experienced in the sexual parts of the
> body, or at least related to those parts in that if it is associated
> with arousal, the arousal occurs in those parts. (Primoratz 1999,
> 46)
> 
> 
> 



To distinguish a sexual from a nonsexual kiss, we ask which of the two
is associated with arousal, and we understand the notion of arousal as
essentially linked to the sexual body parts.



Because the above view relies solely on sexual pleasure-as-sensation,
it would have to understand the other two types ultimately in terms of
pleasure-as-sensation. That is, what makes sexual
pleasure-as-enjoyment *sexual* is its connection to arousal.
This implies that "sensory pleasure is more fundamental when it
comes to sex" (Goldman 2016, 95).



In most activities, the pleasure and the activity are
intertwined--we do not watch a movie and then feel the pleasure.
Instead, we enjoy the movie as we watch it. The pleasures here are
pleasures-as-enjoyment. Things are different with sex because of
pleasure-as-sensation, specifically, orgasm. Sexual
pleasure-as-enjoyment supervenes on sexual pleasure-as-sensation, and
it often culminates in orgasm, a result that comes at the end of the
activity (though the orgasm as an end differs between men and women).
We can then see why some prominent philosophers have considered
temperance and intemperance to be about bodily appetites satisfied
especially through touch (Aristotle, *Nicomachean Ethics*
1118a-1118b).



Sexual pleasures-as-enjoyment and as-feeling might thus be parasitic
on sexual pleasures-as-sensations. The butterflies one feels in
one's stomach at the prospect of sex exist because of the
expectation of sensual pleasure, and so does enjoying a sexual act.
Sexual pleasure, especially as-sensation, stands out as a crucial
motivation for having sex, and its concept supplies us with a good way
of defining "sexual desire."



Sexual pleasure need not be the primary motive for sexual activity,
and people have sex for various reasons. Cindy Meston and David Buss
identify 237 expressed reasons for why people have sex (though in a
few cases they count the same reason more than once), including, in
addition to sexual pleasure, finding the other person attractive,
expressing love, feeling desired by the other, deepening the
relationship, and trying new experiences (2007, 480). They are silent
on how many of the nonsexual motives are mingled with the motive for
sexual pleasure. This question is important because it gets to the
issue of how primary the sexual motive is in having sex, given that
not being attracted to one's potential sexual partner, even
being repulsed by them, might be powerful enough to trump other
reasons for wanting sex (people might not have sex *just* to
exercise, to boost their self-image, etc.).


### 1.4 Sexual Preferences and Orientation



Sexual orientation is commonly understood as a person's standing
sexual preference for men, women, or both. It is a basic preference,
unlike, say, the preference for hair color or buttock size. It is also
an organizing preference: other sexual preferences are built upon it
(Stein 1999, ch. 2). A foot fetishist is either gay, straight or
bisexual, before he is a foot fetishist, though it is an empirical
question whether there can be sexual orientations for body parts (or
objects) regardless of the gender or sex of the person's body
part (Stein 1999, ch. 2; Wilkerson 2013). It is unclear, however, how
to distinguish orientations from mere preferences; saying that the
former are basic whereas the latter are not seems to merely reflect
common views of the distinction (Dembroff 2016, 12; Stock 2019, 315).
Halwani (forthcoming) argues that, given the importance we attach to
orientations, it is a necessary condition for a sexual desire to be an
orientation that its fulfillment is needed for the well-being of the
person with the desire, whereas preferences are not tied to well-being
in such strong ways.



Mere sexual preferences vary tremendously, targeting people, objects,
activities, and sexual positions, probably because they are a function
of the person's individual history and the available social and
cultural options (on this variety, see Love 1992). Some preferences
are considered perverted (e.g., coprophilia), some immoral (e.g.,
pedophilia), and some both. Yet with others it is not so obvious, such
as sexual preferences for members of particular races or ethnic
groups. Perhaps *X*'s preference for Asian women is
innocent, on a par with the preference for tall people. But it might
also indicate an ethical fault if, say, racially ugly stereotypes
inform it (Barn 2022; Halwani 2017b [2022]; Kershnar 2019; Zheng
2016).



Returning to sexual orientation, some philosophers have claimed that
its popular conception relies on dubious assumptions (Corvino 2006a;
Dembroff 2016).



(1)
It assumes three basic orientations: homosexual, heterosexual, and
bisexual (or only two if one thinks, as does Kathleen Stock, that
bisexuality is not a third orientation but an amalgam of the other
two, such that bisexuals have two sexual orientations, heterosexuality
and homosexuality [2019, 298-300]).
(2)
It includes the gender or sex of the person who has the
orientation as an essential element of the orientation;
*X*'s being gay means that *X* has the same
sex/gender as the target of the orientation.
(3)
It is ambiguous between sex and gender: is a straight man
attracted to the gender or the sex of women? And is the man straight
because of his gender or sex?
(4)
It assumes a binary of gender/sex for both parties, excluding
people who exist outside the binary.
(5)
It is ambiguous between sexual and emotional attraction: if a man
is emotionally attracted to other men, does that mean that he is gay
or something else?
(6)
It is silent on what counts as the basic components of the
orientation: is it behavior, desires, or fantasies?
(7)
Finally, it assumes the cross-temporal and cross-cultural
existence of the three sexual orientations: there were gay men and gay
women in 15th century Russia just as there were in
21st century North America, albeit with adjustment for
cultural variances.


(1) Is there a good reason to believe that there are only three sexual
orientations? Some men are attracted to people with female features
from the waist up but male features from the waist down (a penis),
thus not easily accommodated by the above three-way division of sexual
orientations. It is also unclear whether the many men who are
attracted to both young boys and women--this is true of many
cultures around the world, past and present--are bisexual. It is
also possible that there are age- and species-orientations, such as
pedophilia and zoophilia. Such potential orientations threaten to
seriously expand the number of sexual orientations (consider that
genuine zoophiles--people who have long-standing desires to have
sex with nonhuman animals--will have as many sexual orientations
as there are different types of animals to which they are attracted
(Wilkerson 2013)). Whether we can maintain that there are only three
(or two) sexual orientations depends on the answers to these questions
and our tolerance for exceptions to the three. It also depends on the
reasons for classifying people by sexual orientation (see Andler 2020;
Dembroff 2016; Stock 2019).



(2) It is unclear why the gender/sex of the person with the
orientation should be a component of the conception of sexual
orientation. Under the popular conception, if a formerly straight man
is currently a woman (after transitioning), they would now be a
lesbian (assuming that their sexual desires for women does not
change). But if we omit the person's own gender from the
conception, the person's sexual orientation remains the same.
Perhaps the answer to this issue depends on the political and moral
gains reaped by conceiving of sexual orientation in one or the other
way (Dembroff 2016; Stock 2019, 307-313).



(3) The lack of distinction between sex and gender makes it hard to
classify cases such as this: *X* is attracted to *Y* who
is anatomically male (sex) but who self-presents as a woman (gender).
Assume that *X*'s own gender and sex are male. Then,
whether we claim that *X* is gay or is straight, we face
obstacles: if *X* is gay, *X* would not be attracted to
someone who appears as a woman. If *X* is straight, *X*
would not be attracted to someone who is anatomically male. The
popular concept of orientation leaves such cases unclassified (Corvino
2006a; Wilkerson 2013; but see Stock 2019, 303-307 for a way to
accommodate gender attractions on the sex-based account of sexual
orientations). The difficulty of such cases has led some philosophers
to include both sex and gender as the bases of sexual orientation
(Diamond 2022; Dembroff 2016). Perhaps the distinction between
orientations and preferences is relevant here, such that gender-based
attractions might be considered preferences, whereas sex-based
attractions are orientations (or vice versa).



(4) Connected to the previous point is that the popular understanding
of sexual orientation assumes a binary conception of sex/gender,
albeit one that can include trans people. A straight woman is a woman,
cis or trans, who is attracted to men, cis or trans (a cisperson is
someone whose gender identity--e.g., being a man--matches
their biological sex--being male). Thus, there is no room for
people who are gender fluid or whose gender or sex identification
exists outside the binary (Dembroff 2016).



(5) Both the American Psychological Association (APA) and the Human
Rights Campaign understand "sexual orientation" as
including emotional attraction. The former's definition
states,



> 
> 
> Sexual orientation refers to an enduring pattern of emotional,
> romantic, and/or sexual attractions to men, women, or both sexes.
> (American Psychological Association, Introduction to "Sexual
> Orientation and Homosexuality", Other Internet Resources)
> 
> 
> 



Thus, the APA believes that a man would be straight were he to be
emotionally (even if neither romantically nor sexually) attracted to a
woman. Yet it is possible that he is nonetheless sexually attracted to
men, a result that leads to conceptual trouble. Perhaps keeping the
conception of sexual orientation limited to *sexual* attraction
so as to avoid such trouble is better (though adding romantic
attractions is plausible, given that they usually include a sexual
dimension) (Dembroff 2016).



(6) The popular conception of sexual orientation is not so crude as to
rely solely on behavior, but it is silent about on what we should
rely. Desires and fantasies are obvious candidates. But occurrent
desires are not a good guide to sexual orientation: a shepherd can
sexually desire sex with a sheep, but he need not be a zoophile, even
were his desire for the sheep to recur. David--a straight
guy--might desire oral sex from another man (Tom) or other men.
Recourse to "enduring desires," as in the APA's
definition, might not do the trick if the conditions under which David
desires oral sex from other men recur. Other information, such as
counter-factual information as to what the person would do under
such-and-such conditions (e.g., Stein's "ideal
conditions"; 1999, ch. 2), is needed--if David prefers a
woman's mouth under ideal conditions, then he is straight. But
stating these conditions is tough. What if David prefers the way that
Tom performs oral sex? David might, under some conditions, still opt
for Tom (Corvino 2006a; cf. Diaz-Leon, 2022).



Perhaps fantasies are a better guide if there is a good way to
distinguish between fantasies that indicate the person's sexual
orientation and those that don't (after all, David's
desire for Tom is a fantasy of sorts; Storms 1980). This might push us
to ideal conditions again, to distinguish between someone's real
and "fake" fantasies. Or we might rely on initial sexual
impulses: what sexually catches the eye of someone, without much
thought: David does desire Tom's oral skills, but what captures
David's sexual eye are women, not men.



(7) Philosophers and historians of sex are roughly divided into social
constructionists and essentialists. Weak social constructionism claims
that the *concepts* of "homosexuality,"
"heterosexuality," "natural sexuality," and
similar concepts are limited to a specific time period and
geographical region. This version is weak because it is only concerned
with how sexuality is conceptualized: there might have been
homosexuals in ancient Greece, but the ancient Greeks did not think
about them using the concept "homosexual." Strong social
constructionism--more in line with Michel Foucault's views
(1976)--claims that the very existence of homosexual and
heterosexual orientations is geographically and temporally limited;
our concepts of "homosexual" and
"heterosexual" do not refer to anything when used to refer
to other times and regions. Essentialists claim that homosexuals,
heterosexuals, and bisexuals have existed in various times and
cultures (see Card 1995, ch. 3; Corvino 1997, pt. III; Corvino 2006b;
De Cecco 1981; Mohr 1992, ch. 7; Stein 1992, 1999, ch. 4; Wilkerson
2013).



Essentialism has difficulty accounting for the historical and cultural
evidence: Were all the ancient Athenians who had sex with boys and
women bisexuals? Possibly, but then why, in such social
configurations, do we find a preponderance of bisexual men? If they
were not all bisexuals, what were they? Neither
"homosexual" nor "heterosexual" seems
adequate. Perhaps then such men had an altogether different sexual
orientation. Perhaps one option is to argue that most Athenian men
were bisexuals, and their preponderance can be explained by the lack
of social strictures that most people be straight, and their
preferences for male youths, as opposed to male adults, can be
explained by another set of social strictures, namely, that men should
be sexually attracted to femininity. This explanation renders
essentialism intact while allowing for a robust role for social
factors to shape sexual desires. Related to this, essentialism has to
be universally true for it to be true at all, for if it excludes some
cultures and times, it concedes the truth of social constructionism.
But if true of every single culture, it would be a very strong thesis,
and the need for evidence becomes more urgent. Perhaps, then, some
version of social constructionism is true. Our sexual desires are
biologically rigid enough to target mostly members of our species, but
not so rigid as to reflect only our three basic sexual orientations,
though social constructionism would have to properly accommodate
evolutionary biology's "designing" us for
procreation (Halperin 1990, ch.1).



Philosophers have only recently shown increased interest in asexuality
and asexuals, even though non-philosophers had already started to
address it (Bogaert 2012, 2015). Asexuals are not sexually attracted
to others (they are thus not to be confused with incels, who are
sexually attracted to others). According to Anthony Bogaert, this does
not mean that they do not experience sexual desires, do not engage in
sexual activity, or do not experience romance (see also Brunning and
McKeever 2021; Eaton and Szustak 2022). Asexuals experience sexual
desire and arousal because sexual desire is physiological and its
(successful) satisfaction can yield physical pleasure (Bogaert 2012,
21, 74). They also sometimes masturbate for the sheer pleasure of it
or to release tension, including while fantasizing, though the
fantasies are disconnected from the asexual person who is fantasizing:
they "view themselves as not being part of the sexual acts they
are fantasizing about or viewing" (Bogaert 2012, 63).



Luke Brunning and Natasha McKeever accept the basics of
Bogaert's view; they understand attraction as an
"involuntary way of being inclined toward things around
us" (2021, 499). So to be sexually attracted to others is to
experience them as "'inviting' certain forms of
sexual engagement" (2021, 499). Asexuals, then, do not
experience other people as sexually "inviting."
Understanding asexuality as lack of sexual attraction, not as lack of
sexual desire or capacity to experience sexual pleasure, coheres with
the above understanding of sexual desire as seeking pleasure, except
that in the case of asexuals, feeling sexual desire is not triggered
by sexual attraction (to anyone). It raises, however, the issue of the
aptness of using the label "asexual" to refer to people
who can experience sexual desire and pleasure. Bogaert argues that
understanding asexuality in terms of (lack of) attraction helps us see
it as a sexual orientation and it better explains the type of people
under consideration--that is, as a type of person, asexuals
experience lack of sexual attraction, not lack of sexual desire (2012,
22).



Whether asexuality is a sexual orientation is a complex issue. Stock
claims that asexuality is not an orientation but an absence of one
(2019, 300). Others argue that if orientations are patterns of
attraction, asexuality is an orientation in that asexuals also evince
a pattern. Moreover, their lack of sexual attraction is stable and
identity conferring, which seems to assimilate it to an orientation
(Brunning and McKeever 2021, 4). But the claim that asexuality is an
orientation relies mostly on political and moral reasons, in that
thinking of it as an orientation might secure asexuals social and
legal protections (Brunning and McKeever 2021, 4; Eaton and Szustak
2022, 134).


### 1.5 Sexual Identity



The concept of "identity" is a philosophical minefield:
identity can be descriptive or normative; public or personal; with
explanatory power or inert. The distinction between first person and
third person attributions of identity helps us see this. When Amy
asserts that she is gay, she could be describing herself (informing
someone of who she is); she could be asserting a political or cultural
position, especially if the identity in question is threatened by the
powers that be ("I am gay," uttered as a way of resisting
oppression); or she could be making sense of herself, either to
herself or to others: "I am gay" helps Amy see herself or
others see her more coherently. Third parties can make the same
assertion about Amy in any of these ways.



The second and third ways are interesting because they allow both
choice with respect to the identity and disagreement about its
assertion. Amy can choose to adopt, be indifferent to, or reject the
identity of being gay, and she can choose to use it (or not) to make
sense of herself. She might fail to identify with her homosexuality
because it is not important to her, because she does not find gay
cultural ways appealing, because she does not think highly of gays,
because she is ashamed, because she is religious, etc. This allows for
healthy disagreements with Amy's decisions. And Marcia, a
straight woman, might be wrong to assert her straight identity in a
climate in which gay people are oppressed, much like a person might be
wrong to assert his white identity in a racist society, also allowing
for disagreements with her (see Alcoff 2006, esp. pt. I; Andler 2021;
Appiah 2005, ch. 3; Halwani 2006; Lance & Tanesini 2000; Ozturk
2017; Wilkerson 2007). In this way, it becomes an interesting
question--albeit one that goes against everyday
usage--whether one can be heterosexual and gay or homosexual and
straight. Perhaps not, if being homosexual is necessary (but not
sufficient) for being gay, and if being heterosexual is necessary (but
not sufficient) for being straight.



Matthew Andler has recently argued, by trying to eliminate rival
accounts, for a "cultural theory of queer sexual
identity." ("Queer" is an unclear concept, but in
the hands of academics it generally means any gender identity, sexual
orientation, or sexual identity that diverges, especially
intentionally, from cisheterosexist ways of thinking and living; see
Hall 2017 for discussion.) According to Andler, one has a queer sexual
identity "in virtue of (i) being excluded from straight culture
and (ii) being such that according to the constitutive norms of queer
culture the individual ought to be included in queer culture"
(2022, 124). Whether such an account succeeds depends on whether other
accounts have been successfully argued against. It also depends on how
monolithic and rigid we take such cultures to be, and so which of
their aspects are exclusionary and which are not. Moreover, this
account implies that there are no queer identities in those possible
worlds in which gay and straight people exist but in which
heterosexual cultures do not exclude queer people. It seems plausible
that in such worlds there are queer identities (though
"queer" would not have the same oppositional meaning as it
does in the actual world).



The notion of sexual identity might help address the desired goals
behind the claim that asexuality is a sexual orientation, for one can
argue that even if asexuality is not an orientation, asexuals still
have a sexual identity, and it is their identity that supports calls
for their social and legal protections.


## 2. Normative Issues


### 2.1 Good and Bad Sex



"Good sex" and "bad sex" can refer to
pleasurable as well as to morally, aesthetically, practically, and
legally good or bad sex and to natural and unnatural sex (Soble 2008,
85-87; Soble, with Halwani 2017, 8-16).



It is unclear what aesthetic sex is (it is in need of philosophical
exploration), but applying some common aesthetic concepts, such as
"unity", "coherence", and
"completeness"--concepts used in defining the
aesthetic experience (Beardsley 1982, chs. 1, 5, 16; cf. Levine 2006;
Singer 2001, ch. 5)--might be useful: a sexual act can be
coherent, unified, and fulfills the parties' expectations (this
is Monroe Beardsley's view of completeness; 1982, 85-86).
Assuming these three are the only components of aesthetic experiences,
sexual activity can provide an aesthetic experience to its
participants. Other concepts, such as "beauty" and its
opposites (e.g., "dullness", "monotony",
"the disgusting", "the insipid") can also be
relevant, though whether they retain their aesthetic sense when
applied to sex is the question. This last point is as true, if not
more, of "pleasure": Is there such a thing as aesthetic
pleasure, and can it be a property of sexual acts? (Shusterman 2021
provides historical in-depth treatment of the relationship between sex
and aesthetics).



Sex can also be practically or pragmatically good or bad: a
"sexting" politician can ruin his career, unprotected
sexual intercourse risks contracting HIV, sex without contraception
risks (undesired) pregnancy, and public sex risks arrest. Practically
good sex does not lead to bad results and might have positive
outcomes: a sense of rejuvenation, loss of calories, or a wanted
pregnancy.



"Good sex" most obviously refers to pleasurable sex. A sex
act can be good or bad depending on the amount and intensity of the
pleasure or pain it provides (Vannoy 1980, ch. 3), though pain in sex
can contribute to its pleasure (e.g., in bondage and sadomasochism).
We must keep in mind the different senses of "pleasure"
that can come into play, especially pleasure-as-sensation and
pleasure-as-enjoyment.


### 2.2 Sex and Morality



Sexual activity is either morally permissible or impermissible.
Natural Law philosophers (whose stance can be aptly described as
conservative) think that sexual acts are permissible only in
particular contexts, especially in marital or love relationships. Many
take their cue from Aristotle and Aquinas to argue that our bodily
organs have a telos that dictates to what ends we should pursue sexual
activity. Edward Feser (2015), for example, defends "the
perverted faculty argument," according to which to flourish we
must follow the procreative ends of our sexual organs, which include
not only begetting children but also raising them to adulthood. Human
beings who, for example, fornicate or have same-sex sex pervert this
faculty. More recently, Feser (2022) has argued that advocates of his
position of teleological essentialism approach sexual ethics from
metaphysical bases so different from those of liberal philosophers
that they are talking past one another.



Other Natural Law philosophers argue that our sexual organs must form
a unity of the two partners in a way compatible with the end of
procreation (see Finnis 1993, 2011; George 2003; George & Bradley
1995; Hsiao 2015; Lee & George 1997; Pruss 2000, 2012). The main
reasons are the theory's view of marriage, which, following
Thomas Aquinas, is understood as a basic good, and its view of marital
sexual acts as reproductive and unitive, as two-in-one flesh
communions. Only marital sex--i.e., sex acts between married
partners who do it from *the specific motive* of the good of
marriage (what this means, though, is unclear)--is considered
morally permissible, even good. Thus, although consent to the sexual
act is necessary, it is not sufficient: the sex has to be done from
the motive of marital unity.



Three prominent objections to the above Natural Law views are (1) that
the view of marriage is both undefended and implausible; (2) that the
connection between reproduction or biological two-in-one union and the
morality of sex is unclear, and (3) that it is unclear why other
goods, such as sexual pleasure, are ruled out as basic goods
(Koppelman 2008; see also Biggar & Black 2000). Recently, Kurt
Blankschaen (2020) has argued that Natural Law has the internal
resources to not condemn same-sex sex because we can view the unitive
aspect of sex as a genus with various species, one of which is
procreation, much like the genus of tree bark is to protect trees, but
such that some do so by photosynthesis while others do not.



Marriage need not be the only context to which sex ought to be
confined. Non-Natural Law philosophers have considered love to be such
a context (most importantly Roger Scruton 1986). A view confining sex
to love need not insist also on only two partners to the relationship,
or on being of different sex/gender. It requires only the presence of
love. Other versions require only affection or a mutually respectful
relationship (Hampton 1999; Nussbaum 1995). On such views, consensual
casual sex between two strangers is impermissible.



Why must factors such as love and a mutually respectful relationship
be present for the permissibility of sex? One prominent reason is that
sex is somehow morally dangerous. Sex might make us treat our sexual
partners as objects, and the power of sex might make us engage in sex
with the wrong people, in the wrong circumstances, etc. So something
is needed to minimize or erode this danger. Love or a respectful
relationship minimizes these risks (Nussbaum 1995, 227-231).



Alan Soble, addressing Martha Nussbaum's (1995) view that
objectification and respect are compatible with each other, argues
that love or a respectful relationship does not prevent lovers or
partners from objectifying each other *during* the sex (Soble
2017b, 304-309; 2022c, 406-411; see below for discussion
of objectification). Moreover, views about the ability of respect or
love to curb sexual objectification might be too optimistic: if sex is
so powerful or mind-numbing, being in a relationship might not
attenuate its power or control it effectively (e.g., partners soon
start eyeing people outside the relationship).



There are other normative questions besides the question of when
sexual activity is permissible:



(1)
Can sexual activity be assessed as good or bad, not merely
permissible or impermissible?
(2)
Are there sexual obligations--moral obligations to engage in
sexual activity?
(3)
Is sex morally special or do the same general moral rules and
norms that apply to nonsexual domains equally apply to sex?


The answer to (1) is "Yes." To give three examples, sexual
acts can be done generously (e.g., paying extra sexual attention to
one's partner), caringly (e.g., expressing tenderness), or
fairly (e.g., performing oral sex on one's partner because the
partner performed oral sex on one). Moreover, these generous, caring,
and fair motives need not compete with the motive of sexual pleasure:
knowing that one's partner enjoys the extra attention, one
lavishes it on them during the sex. Thus, sexual activity can be
morally evaluated as good, not merely permissible (because
consensual).



The language of virtue is relevant here, since acting generously,
caringly, or fairly can express virtuous motives (see Halwani 2003,
ch. 3, 2018a, 2018b, ch. 7; Morgan 2003a). Sexual activity, including
consensual sexual activity, can also manifest various vices. Consider
the following examples.


1. A student offers their teacher sex for a high grade (the teacher
consents).
2. A guy has sex with another guy during a wake (neither is directly
related to the dead person).
3. Lisa hates yet desires Nancy; she wants to sexually humiliate her;
Nancy knows this but desires Lisa, and she does not care. They have
sex during which Lisa heaps verbal abuse on the trembling-with-desire
Nancy.
4. Omar is a handsome gay man who loves having sex with many guys to
feed his ego. At the end of the day, all spent, he agrees to a seventh
hookup because the guy is a catch. He tells the guy, "You are my
seventh today, so I might not be very energetic". The guy says,
"This is actually a turn-on".
5. Isabel has undesired sex with her boyfriend so as not to deal with
his foul mood (he is not abusive, but accustomed to getting his way),
even though she knows that she need not agree to sex every time he
wants it.



Each case has the participants' consent, yet each sexual act is
bad in some aspect (though not all are seriously wrong) because it
exhibits a vice: unprofessionalism, intemperance, maliciousness (and
possibly cruelty and demeaningness; cf. Morgan 2003a), vanity, and
cowardice, respectively. Thus, consent might not be sufficient for the
act's goodness, though perhaps it is for its permissibility
(depending on the seriousness of the harm or vice).



(2) Sexual and romantic relationships provide the strongest cases for
sexual obligations, because sexual activity is an expected and crucial
aspect of (especially monogamous) relationships. Note that ordinarily
threatening harm to someone unless they have sex is morally wrong, but
threats to end a relationship unless the other party has sex
("Have sex with me or I will break up with you") are not
obviously wrong, further indicating that sexual obligations exist
(Anderson 2013; Soble 2017a, 2022b; Wertheimer 2003, ch. 12).



The difficult question is whether there are sexual obligations outside
such relationships. If having sex is a basic need, perhaps plausible
cases involve a health caretaker alleviating the sexual needs of a
patient. One can argue that although under the usual conception of
"health care professional" (e.g., a nurse) there are no
such duties, society should create a category of such professionals to
meet these needs--if they are indeed basic.



Some philosophers have argued that there are positive rights to sex,
especially for those who, due to disabilities, are unable to find
willing sexual partners without having to pay them. The idea is that
because sexual activity and pleasure with another person are crucial
to a minimally decent life and not adequately substituted for by
masturbation, those who are sexually deprived are entitled to some
form of partnered sexual activity (Appel 2010; Firth 2019). Others
have argued that not all sexually excluded people are disabled and not
all disabled people are sexually excluded, so the issue of sexual
exclusion cuts across that of disability (Earp and Moen 2016; Liberman
2018; Shakespeare 2022).



The argument for sexual positive rights has been met with resistance
on two fronts. Some have raised concerns about women supplying sex for
men given a history of sexism and misogyny, even if the men are
disabled (Jeffreys 2008; [see DeBoer 2015 for replies]; Liberman
2022). Others have argued that such rights to partnered sex imply that
some people's rights to sexual autonomy will be violated, so
there are no rights to partnered sex (Danaher 2020; DiNucci 2011,
2020; Liberman 2022; Srinivasan 2021, ch. 3). The most that is
conceded is that if there are rights to sex, they are not to partnered
sex, but to a bundle of services that can help people be more sexually
included, such as validation of a group's sexuality, sex
education, sexual toys and instruments, including sex robots, and even
professional assistance with masturbating or assistance with having
sex with someone for those who cannot perform these acts on their own
(the assistants themselves would not be part of the sexual act)
(Danaher 2020, 2022; DiNucci 2017; Liberman 2022). It is unclear,
however, once sexual partners are off the table, whether what remains
(e.g., sex education) are proper objects of rights to
*sex*.



Still, sexual obligations might exist even without corresponding
rights, based in general duties of benevolence--attending to
someone's sexual needs would be similar to attending to
someone's hunger (Soble 2017a, 454-55; 2022b, 546). But it
is unclear who would fulfill these obligations, what their fulfillment
would amount to (is masturbating the beneficiary of the duty enough?),
and whether the gender and sexual orientation of the parties matters
or should matter. These are difficult issues, especially since the
extent to which someone's sexual needs are properly met does
depend on their sexual desires and preferences: a straight man's
needs might not be met by a gay man, and straight women meeting
men's sexual needs is troubling given sexism and sex-based
oppression. Moreover, if *X*'s sexual need cannot be
alleviated by *X* masturbating, how the needs are to be met is
a pressing question, and so is determining the depth of a sexual need
to see whether it gives rise to an obligation. Ultimately, such sexual
duties might face the same crucial objection that the right to
partnered sex faces, namely, that people's right to sexual
autonomy is so important that it is incompatible with the existence of
sexual duties.



Even if we have no obligations to satisfy others' sexual needs,
we might nevertheless have sexual obligations to ourselves to develop
or dampen certain sexual preferences. Pedophiles, for example, might
have an obligation to change their preferences, not merely to refrain
from acting on them. Other examples include obligations to change
one's preferences (or their lack) for, say, members of a
particular race, ethnic group, age group, body type, etc. These are
more controversial, however, because it is not clear that such
preferences are bad to begin with (Barn 2022; Halwani 2017b [2022];
Kershnar 2019; Zheng 2016), and some might not be under our control at
all (e.g., preference for certain age groups) or as easily changed as
others are (e.g., for skin color).



(3) According to Alan Goldman, "[N]o conduct otherwise immoral
should be excused because it is sexual conduct, and nothing in sex is
immoral unless condemned by rules which apply elsewhere as well"
(1977, 280). This is true at a general level because the same general
moral features (e.g., harm) affect sexual acts. But it might be false
at more specific levels: *sexual* violation of the body by a
penis or an object makes the violation distinct. This has to do with
how one experiences sexual bodily violations, thereby making sexual
consent a crucial moral aspect of sexual relations (Wertheimer 2003,
107-112). Moreover, if Kant is right, the objectifying nature of
sexual desire makes it unique. If virtue ethicists are right, actions
can be right and wrong because they are sexually temperate and
intemperate: seducing the ex-boss's husband is vengeful or
intemperate, depending on the motive (Carr 2007; Halwani 2003, ch. 3,
2018a, 2018b, ch. 7; Piers 1999; see also the essays in SE). The
specialness of sex might be explained by sexual desire's
rootedness in biology and its being directed at the bodies of other
human beings (Dent 1984: ch. 2 and *passim*).


#### 2.2.1 Consent



Whether one is conservative, liberal, or progressive about the
permissibility of sexual acts, consent looms large. Most philosophers
believe that informed and voluntary consent is necessary and
sufficient for the moral permissibility of sex (Archard 1998; Mappes
1987; Miller & Wertheimer 2010; Primoratz 2001; Wertheimer 2003;
but see Pateman 1988), though there are dissenters who debate
consent's sufficiency (see below).



Consent is crucial because (a) it transforms an otherwise wrong act
into a permissible one (though not necessarily into a good act); (b)
in heterosexual sex, men and women might importantly differ when it
comes to sex; and (c) sexual violation is typically experienced as
very harmful (Wertheimer 2003, 119-121).



(a) has been especially important to philosophers. Consent's
being morally transformative means that it changes an action's
moral status from impermissible to permissible. If John takes a book
from Lisa's library, the act can be one of robbery or one of
lending (or gifting) depending on whether Lisa has consented. One
issue here is whether consent to sexual contact is morally special or
different from other types of transactions, including nonsexual bodily
contact (Chadha 2022, 218-219). For example, is it especially
important to consent to sexual penetration as opposed to, say, a
shoulder massage or even a colonoscopy? Explanations of the importance
of sexual consent that rely on our special relationship to our bodies,
as opposed to our relationship to external objects like books (Gardner
and Shute 2000), fail to distinguish between consent to sexual bodily
contact and consent to nonsexual bodily contact. Perhaps evolutionary
explanations are needed (Wertheimer 2003, ch. 2).



The claim that valid or genuine consent by all the parties to a sex
act is necessary and sufficient for the moral permissibility of the
sex act can put as follows:



> 
> 
> *X*'s sexual activity with *Y* is morally
> permissible if, and only if, *Y* validly consents to the sexual
> activity.
> 
> 
> 



One crucial question is what it means for *Y* to validly
consent. It seems that *Y* has to do something, to perform some
action, that amounts to consent. On the "purely mental
view," the action can be purely mental, such as a thought to the
effect that "I consent to this act." But more than mere
thoughts, decisions, or beliefs might be needed to explain what is
wrong with cases in which *X* proceeds to have sex with
*Y* even though *Y*, who consents, does not clearly
communicate their consent to *X*. Hence we get the
"communications view," according to which *X*
wrongs *Y* if there is no clear communication to proceed with
the sexual activity (Chadha 2022; Dougherty 2015, 2018). An important
issue here is what it would take for *Y* to clearly communicate
their consent to *X*. Is enthusiasm, for example, necessary or
sufficient to convey one's consent? (Pineau 1989; Dougherty
2022)



Another crucial issue is what *Y* is consenting to exactly when
*Y* consents to sexual activity. For the consent to be valid,
the activity engaged in has to be the one consented to, not some other
activity. This seemingly obvious point raises the thorny question of
what constitutes a sexual act and how many acts of consent are needed
for a compound or extended sexual act, one that is made up of parts
(kissing, then oral sex, then penetrative sex, and so on).



There are additional elements of valid consent, the two most important
ones being lack of coercion and lack of deception. Coercion undermines
the voluntary aspect of consent, and deception undermines its informed
aspect (Dougherty 2013; Mappes 1987). Other elements are being of
sound mind and having the cognitive and emotional maturity to consent
(Chadha 2022, 223). After all, we can imagine cases in which neither
coercion nor deception is involved, yet one is too young or too
inebriated to consent. If "informed consent" means simply
receiving or having the requisite information, we might need
additional criteria like maturity and soundness of mind. If it means
something stronger, such as "properly processing the
information," perhaps maturity and soundness of mind are
redundant. A final element of valid consent might be lack of
exploitation, especially in unequal relationships, given that the
stronger party might take advantage of the weaker one despite neither
coercing nor deceiving the weaker one (Archard 1994; Mappes 1987; for
criticism of Archard's views, see Boonin 2022).



Is valid consent sufficient for a sexual act's moral
permissibility? The views discussed in 2.2 that restrict permissible
sex to an affectionate, mutually respectful, or marital context take
consent to be necessary but not sufficient. Moreover, if sexual desire
by nature objectifies, as the Kantian view has it, then the consent of
the parties is insufficient because consent to sex is consent to a
wrong action (see 2.2.2).



A different reason for rejecting the sufficiency of consent is harm.
Setting aside harm to third parties, if sexual activity leads to harm
to one or more of its parties, then consent might not be sufficient.
This view is especially plausible when it comes to women, given that
many women engage in *consensual* sex that is motivated by
nonsexual desires, such as not wanting to put their partner in a foul
mood. According to one account, the harm is psychological, especially
to their autonomy (West 1995). This implies that prostitutes are
harmed because of their consent to undesired sex, an implausible
implication. However, even if specific formulations of the view are
implausible (such as West's; see Soble 1996, 37-39;
Wertheimer 2003, *passim*), this does not negate the plausible
claim that *if* sexual activity harms one or more of the
consenting parties, the activity is wrong. One might object that this
argument is paternalistic, telling people not to engage in sex when
the sex is harmful (Soble 1996, 37-39). This objection is
correct in that although harmful sex gives the participants a reason
to not engage in it, it cannot be used to argue that social or legal
forces should prevent this action (Wertheimer 2003,
130-131).



Despite disagreement about the sufficiency of consent, the
*necessity* of consent is typically taken for granted by
philosophers. But its necessity can be questioned. For instance, if we
accept a "casual view" of sexual pleasure, "that
sexual pleasure is morally like any other pleasure" (Benatar
2002, 192; see also Beckwith 2022), consent might not be necessary.
For if sexual pleasure is insignificant, a person's consent may
be bypassed if there are cases, bizarre as they might seem, in which
forcing someone, or not requiring their consent, to have sex with
another person might be important or needed (to the former person,
especially). This might occur with people with impaired abilities (see
below), or even with minors if an ambitious parent thinks that it is a
good idea for their child to experience some sexual activity (not
necessarily intercourse) with another person (Benatar 2002,
194-195).



However, we need not accept a single view of sexual pleasure as casual
or significant; we can instead argue that, depending on between whom
the pleasure occurs, it might or might not be casual (Halwani 2022a,
48-51). Moreover, if, as seems to be the case, people's
considered beliefs about sex are that sex is significant (imagine
claiming that incest or sex with animals is "cool" because
sex is casual), the casual view of sex might very well be wrong, in
which case the consensus surrounding the necessity of consent remains
intact.



Why is sex significant? Sex is significant in that it involves
one's most important private space: one's body. Suppose
that *X* is a social person, always happy to have guests over
at *X*'s house. One day, *X* discovers that some
people have entered *X*'s apartment and used it to
entertain themselves. *X* feels justifiably violated,
indicating that the violation of private spaces is a serious wrong. If
this is true of an apartment, it is true of one's body,
especially since sexual violation usually involves the insertion of
something in the body. This explains why sexual violations are
experienced as deeply traumatic (Wertheimer 2003, ch.5). Sex is
significant because it pertains to one's most important and
private space (cf. Brogaard 2015, 188-190). Note that even if
(or when) sex is significant, it does not follow that it must be
experienced only in the context of love or mutually respectful
relationship; it can be experienced casually as long as consent is
secured.



John Gardner (2018) argues that consent might not be necessary to sex
because we usually require consent to things that are *done to*
someone, whereas sex, at least ideally, involves a mutuality that
renders sexual activity a joint activity. Chadha (2020) replies that
joint actions are made up of sub-actions, for each of which consent is
necessary. Gardner could reply that sexual sub-actions are also joint,
so consent to them is unnecessary. Moreover, even if some are not
joint, that some are is enough to show that consent is not always
necessary for sex. Still, it is unclear why joint activities render
consent unnecessary. My participation in synchronized swimming or a
musical duet still needs my consent.



People with severely impaired cognitive abilities raise complicated
issues for sexual consent. Assuming that they desire sex but are
unable to consent, or are unable to communicate it clearly, we are
faced with the options of either denying them sex or re-thinking
consent in their case, such as relying on the idea of advance consent
(Bianchi 2022a; 2022b; Director 2019). Andrea Bianchi argues that for
people with dementia we need to prioritize their well-being over
consent because the issue of their quality of life is of "the
upmost importance" (2022b, 365). She relies on the distinction
between consenting to something and assenting with something, the
latter of which, used in medical practices, describes "a
person's active willingness to engage in an act, specifically
when they may lack the ability to fully comprehend it (e.g., the
benefits and risks)" (2022b, 363-364). If Bianchi is
right, only valid consent, not consent as such, would not be necessary
for people with dementia to have sex, because assent is still a form
of rudimentary consent. One difficulty with the argument is that valid
consent might be seen as important for someone's well-being as
much as, if not more than, satisfying their desires is, so basing the
argument on the priority of well-being might take us only so far.


#### 2.2.2 Objectification



Objectification is a perennial issue in the philosophy of sex. It
originates in Kant's moral philosophy, and many feminists have
adopted the language of objectification to criticize, for example,
pornography; though whereas Kant was concerned with the objectifying
nature of sexual desire, feminists do not target sex as such, but only
in the context of patriarchy, claiming that it involves the sexual
objectification of women by men in certain contexts (see below; some
claim that all heterosexual sex is poison under patriarchy, e.g.,
Dworkin 1987). Indeed, sexual desire might not be necessary for the
claim that a woman is sexually objectified under patriarchy: a man
need not sexually desire a woman to catcall her.



Sexual objectification is treating or considering a person
*only* as a sex object. Casual sex, watching pornography,
catcalling, ogling, and other examples all allegedly involve sexual
objectification. The "only" is important because otherwise
there is no basis for moral complaint given that we frequently treat
each other as objects. It is unclear whether objectification can
consist of mere mental regard or whether it must have a treatment
component (ogling someone is interesting because it is unclear whether
it is treatment or mere regard). Some philosophers (Langton 2009;
Nussbaum 1995; Papadaki 2017;) define "sexual
objectification" broadly enough to include mere regard (others,
e.g., LeMoncheck [1985, ch. 1] do not). The inclusion of regard is
wise because objectification seems to involve mere attitudes and
perceptions (e.g., ogling, the regard found in watching pornography).
*X* then sexually objectifies *Y* if, and only if,
*X* treats or regards *Y only* as a sexual object.



The importance of objectification stems from a view of human beings as
more than objects (LeMoncheck 1985, ch. 1; Papadaki 2017). If human
beings, regardless of individual merit, have elevated moral status in
virtue of having rationality, dignity, autonomy, or some such
property, reducing someone to a lower level is wrong. But *how
common* the actual occurrence of sexual objectification and
*how serious* it is, are additional questions. It seems rare to
treat our sexual partners as mere objects in any obvious and troubling
ways: not only are we aware of their humanity, we are also attentive
to it. Indeed, among the various ways of
objectification--instrumentality, denial of autonomy, inertness,
fungibility, violability, ownership, and denial of subjectivity (this
is Nussbaum's list [1995, 257]; cf. Langton 2009,
228-229)--only instrumentality is common. Others, such as
ownership and denial of subjectivity, seem rare (Halwani 2017a;
Halwani 2022b). Clear cases of sexual objectification include
sexually-motivated rape and catcalling.



The Kantian view is that sexual desire objectifies by its nature and
makes it impossible for the sexual partners to satisfy the Categorical
Imperative: "Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether
in your own person or in the person of another, always at the same
time as an end and never simply as a means" (Kant 1785 [1981],
429). Equally problematic on this view is *X* objectifying
*X*'s self--usually through masturbation or allowing
*X*'s self to be objectified by *Y*. Kant
considered duties to the self to be important and his treatment of
objectification clearly includes duties to the self: when a human
being has sex for the mere pleasure of it, he "surrenders his
personality (throwing it away), since he uses himself merely as a
means to satisfy an animal impulse" (1797 [1996], 6: 425; see
also Kant 1930 [1963], 162-168; Soble 2017b, 309-313;
2022c, 411-415)]. The prohibition on allowing one's own
self to be objectified, in addition to the focus on the nature of
sexual desire, is what sets the Kantian view apart from other views of
objectification, especially feminist ones.



Sexual desire objectifies by its nature because when *X*
sexually desires *Y*, *X* desires *Y*'s
body and body parts, especially the sexual ones, making it hard, if
not impossible, to treat the humanity in *Y* as an end (Kant
1930 [1963, 164]). Only sexual desire among our inclinations is
directed at human beings as "flesh," not "their work
and services" (Kant 1930 [1963, 163]). Although it is morally
permissible to use each other for all sorts of purposes as long as
they involve our "work and services," sexual interactions
are different. In almost every interaction with each other, we are
interested in some ability, talent, or service that another can
perform, an aspect intimately connected to their rationality. In these
cases, either *X* does not desire *Y*'s body (but
*Y*'s abilities, talents, or services) or *X*
desires it but as a vehicle of *Y*'s abilities.
*Only* with sexual desire (and, Kant says, in the rare case of
cannibalism; 1930 [1963, 162-63]) does *X* desire
*Y* *as a body, as an object*. *X* wants to enjoy
*Y*'s body, not *Y*'s beautiful voice,
massaging abilities, or computer skills (and if *X* does want
the latter aspects in the context of sexual desire and activity,
*X* wants them insofar as they make *Y* more sexually
appealing). Sexual desire renders people *objects* by reversing
our normal relationship with their bodies. Their bodies become the
objects, not the instruments, of our attention. Kant thought that only
marriage can make objectification tolerable (Kant 1930 [1963, 163]),
though his argument is implausible (see Soble 2013b, 2017b; Denis
2001; Wertheimer 2003, 130-135).



Consent is thus not sufficient for permissible sex because consenting
to sex is consenting to objectification, to something wrong (Soble
2017b, 303-304). Kant's view indicates also why including
regard in a definition of "sexual objectification" is
plausible: even though *X* and *Y* treat each other well
during sex, they still regard each other as mere sex objects.



The phenomenology of sexual desire seems to confirm Kant's
point: The "other's body, their lips, thighs, buttocks,
and toes, are desired as the arousing parts they are, distinct from
the person" (Soble 2013b, 302). During a good sexual act, even
with one's lover, at some point they focus on ass, cock, pussy,
tits, etc. (Vannoy 1980, 14). Kant's view that sexual desire and
activity are different--perhaps even unique--from other ways
we view and interact with other people seems correct, providing
support for the conclusion that sexual desire objectifies.



Sexual desire seems also powerful: its pull is strong and its voice
loud, insisting, and persistent, so much so that people do irrational
and immoral things to satisfy it. This might be a gendered feature of
sexual desire, more true of men than of women, though throughout
history, and in today's popular culture especially, women have
often been portrayed as sexually insatiable (see Anderson &
Struckman-Johnson 1998; Soble 2008, ch. 10). Of course, sexual
partners normally observe limits on how they treat each other: they do
not violate each other, treat each other literally as objects, and so
on, exactly because they understand that they may not treat people in
such ways. Thus, sexual desire operates within moral red lines.



The Kantian problem of objectification cannot be easily solved.
Arguing that there is no objectification because human beings have no
special moral status from which they can be lowered (Soble 2002,
53-63) does not meet Kant on his own grounds (as Soble insists
in 2013b; 2017b; 2022c). Claiming that parties to the sexual act
normally consent to it (Mappes 1987), that objectification is okay as
long as the relationship is respectful (Nussbaum 1995, esp.
227-231), or that sexual partners attend to each other's
sexual needs (Goldman 1977, 282-283; Singer 1984, 382) also do
not solve the problem because none addresses the nature of sexual
desire (Soble 2013b; 2017b; 2022c).



Two other options are to accept the problem as a problem (but perhaps
minimize it; Halwani 2017a; 2022b) or to argue that sexual desire
among human beings is not always objectifying. This is not merely the
idea, insisted on by the intentionalist view, that sexual desire in
human beings is complex, because a Kantian view of sex can accommodate
this point, but that



> 
> 
> there is far more to sex than the desire to use another's body
> in a degrading manner for your selfish pleasure. Even the elements in
> sexual desire closest to this are combined, at least in healthy
> people, with other elements of human emotion that radically transform
> their meaning. (Wood 2008, 227)
> 
> 
> 



Kant's view, however, can also accommodate this insight. For
example, *X* might sexually desire *Y* because
*Y* is, among other things, a kind person, such that *X*
would not have desired *Y* otherwise. But once *X*
desires *Y*, *X* desires *Y*'s body and
body parts. Sexual desire can be selfish while layered within other
elements of human emotions, and the Kantian view need not be confined
to a simplistic view of sexual desire such that it is crassly selfish
or always acted on in a degrading "manner"; Kantian sex
can be attentive to the other's needs.



Nonetheless, the above idea that sexual desire can be combined with
healthy emotions makes it possible that sexual desire is not always
toxic, though how remains unclear. To succeed, sexual desire needs to
be injected with healthy emotions, and not merely added to them, so
that its very nature changes on particular occasions.



On the Kantian view, not all sexual *activity* is objectifying:
sexual activity not stemming from sexual desire might not be
objectifying. Even in those cases when sexual activity is
objectifying, its seriousness varies: in consensual encounters it
competes with other moral factors, whereas in (sexually motivated)
rape it is very serious as sexual desire is the primary motive. (The
motive is not *to* sexually objectify someone, as this is rare;
instead, *X* regards *Y* in a way that is sexually
objectifying.)



Moreover, sexual objectification might differ between men and women,
especially if men and women experience sex differently. Men experience
sexual desire more frequently and insistently than women, though both
are similar in their enjoyment of sexual activity (Ogas and Gaddam
2011, chs. 3 and 4; Symons 1979, 179; Wertheimer 2003, 38-46).
Thus, men might engage in more sexual objectification than do women
given that men think about sex more, ogle others more, and are more
easily turned on visually. Since during sexual activity both would
sexually objectify each other roughly equally, men would sexually
objectify women overall more than women would men. Men also consume
pornography (straight and gay) far more than women do, so would engage
in much more sexual objectification than do women (by viewing people
on-screen, by viewing people as mere sexual objects, etc.). It is
perhaps in this sense that pornography allows women (and men, as
objects of other men's desire) to be objectified.



Some feminists have argued that pornography objectifies women by
dehumanizing them, and it dehumanizes them by depicting them as mere
sexual instruments for men (Hill 1987), by depicting their pleasure as
only for the men's (Longino 1980), by endorsing this treatment
(Longino 1980; Eaton 2007), or by sending the message that all women
are like those depicted in pornography (Garry 1978). But these claims
seem unconvincing. Pornography shows both men and women sexually
enjoying each other, and it is difficult to prove that women's
pleasure is depicted as merely for the men's (one might as well
argue for the reverse) because the scenes themselves do not tell us
anything (Soble 2002, 19-20, 28, 98, 196; 1996, 225-227).
Nor does pornography seem to send messages about the status of women,
whether about the depicted women or women in general. Doing so
disables the viewer's ability to imagine the scenes as he wants,
thereby undermining its own purposes of titillating him (Soble 1996,
231-234). But pornography enables the sexual objectification of
women by displaying them to the gaze of the male viewer (ditto for men
in pornography, albeit the gay male gaze). This form of
objectification seems innocuous, as long as it is not implicated in
harm towards women, either individually or as a class (Gruen 2006; see
also Eaton 2007).



A deeper form of objectification is found in the view that pornography
constructs women's sexuality in a bad way (MacKinnon 1993;
Dworkin 1974, 1979). It eroticizes patriarchal ways of viewing women,
so that sexual desire becomes infused with dominance (cf. Morgan
2003a, 388-390). The sexual desires of young men who routinely
consume pornography become desires for the sexual domination of women.
Women become socially constructed sexual beings for men, such that men
desire them as pornography depicts them--as non-real beings:
"objectification comes to define femininity, and one-sidedness
comes to define mutuality" (MacKinnon 1993, 26; see Mason-Grant
2004). This view, however, implausibly neglects sexual desire's
biology, assuming that sexual desire can be *fully* socially
constructed. Moreover, insofar as it is an empirical view, no proper
evidence has been marshalled in its support (Diorio 2006; Tarrant
2014).



Sexual desire, as we have seen, is sufficient for objectification.
However, it is not necessary. The guy catcalling a woman to feel part
of the group is an example, and so are pornography directors and
editors, who, by choosing the angle of the camera and the footage
cuts, help sexually objectify the performers by presenting them to the
viewer in particular ways; similar reasoning applies to, say, brothel
owners. Indeed, women themselves might have few options other than to
sexually objectify themselves, in a society that values women mostly
through their sexuality (Jutten 2016; Marino 2022a, 2022b). This
might be the most pernicious form of sexual objectification in that
social forces direct or pressure (not necessarily force) women to
adopt such self-identifications or self-presentations to lead better
lives, though whether they are actually flourishing is harder to
gauge.



Recently, the concept of "derivatization" has been used to
examine sex and sexual practices (Parker 2017; Wolf 2016).



> 
> 
> To derivatize something is to portray, render, understand, or approach
> a being solely or primarily as the reflection, projection, or
> expression of another being's identity, desires, fears, etc. The
> derivatized subject becomes reducible in all relevant ways to the
> derivatizing subject's existence. (Cahill 2011, 32; see also
> 2013)
> 
> 
> 



This view might capture some central feminist problems with
pornography, namely, the depiction of women's sexuality as
reflecting men's sexual desires of women. However,
"derivatization" seems not to cover all cases (or all
cases well). Consider a closeted gay man who catcalls a woman only to
impress his peers. He objectifies her but does not seem to derivatize
her. If the reply is that he catcalls that particular woman because
she represents not his desires but, say, society's desires of
what women should look like, then, given that for any sexual situation
one can attribute derivatization to some party or other,
"derivatization" stands in danger of being empty or too
broad to be explanatory.


### 2.3 Sexual Perversion



The most famous contemporary philosophical account is Thomas
Nagel's psychologically-based view of sexual perversion.
"Natural" sexual desire involves a multi-leveled mutual
awareness by two people of each other: *X* perceives sexual
excitement in *Y*, *Y* perceives excitement in
*X*, *X* perceives that *Y* is excited by
*X*, and so on (1969, 10-12). Sexual desire is complex in
that it includes *X*'s sexual arousal by *Y* and
*X*'s feeling sexual because of *Y*'s
arousal by *X*, and so on with higher levels. Sexual
perversions are then standing preferences for sexual activity that
does not involve such multi-levels of sexual arousal. Since this view
locates naturalness and perversion in the agent's preferences,
the sexual act itself need not mirror this structure; only the desires
need have this complexity. Thus, it is inaccurate to accuse it of
being sexless (Solomon 1974, 336) or to evaluate it by giving examples
of non-complex sexual acts (Kupfer 2016, 333).



Although this view accommodates some perversions, such as zoophilia,
pedophilia, and "intercourse with ... inanimate
objects" because they "seem to be stuck at some primitive
version of the first stage of sexual feeling" (Nagel 1969, 14),
it yields counter-intuitive results: masturbation does not fare well
on this view, depending on whether it insists on the perception of the
actual (not imaginative) embodiment of desire in another person (Soble
2013a, 85-87). It also misunderstands how perversions usually
work: a coprophiliac does not normally desire sex *with* feces,
but to incorporate feces in his sexual act with another, which could
involve multi-levels of perception. Moreover, the account does not
capture common intuitions about natural and perverted sex: it goes
beyond the plausible idea that the arousal of one partner increases
the other's, to that of multi-layered arousal--an
unintuitive idea. Similar views rely on the idea that natural sexual
desire is interpersonal, such as that it culminates in love (Scruton
1986, ch. 10) and that it communicates attitudes and feelings (Solomon
1974; see Halwani 2018b, ch. 9 for discussion).



A non-psychological account of sexual perversion, one closer to folk
biology, claims that only reproduction allows us to distinguish
perversions from non-perversions (Ruddick 1984, 287; cf. Gray 1978).
This does not mean that every act has to be reproductive, only that
natural sexual desires "*could* lead to reproduction in
normal physiological circumstances" (Ruddick 1984, 288). Thus, a
heterosexual couple having intercourse but not intending to procreate
are not engaging in perverted sex: their desire is of the
*kind* that, under "normal physiological
circumstances," could lead to reproduction (1984, 288).



The account might have implausible implications, however. Anyone who
prefers (heterosexual) oral sex to intercourse would be perverted.
Moreover, any heterosexual couple that incorporate fetish objects,
urine, feces, and so on, in their sexual *intercourse* would be
sexually natural (Gray 1978, 190-192; Primoratz 1999,
53-54). Indeed, coprophilia can sink all the above accounts: two
people who exhibit inter-personal attitudes in the form of multi-level
perceptions, and who have sexual intercourse of the reproductive type,
communicating healthy emotions sincerely, yet use feces in their
activity would counter-intuitively not be perverted on any of the
above accounts.



Even though explaining perversion in terms of biology seems obvious,
"perversion" is opposed not only to "natural,"
but also to "normal," and the natural and the normal do
not fully overlap. Moreover, the concept of "perversion"
could refer to many things: the immoral, disgusting, bizarre, and
biologically abnormal, among others. Using only one of these to define
"perversion" will probably fail. It might also be that the
methodology of discussing this concept is flawed, failing to account
for the concept's social function (Miller 2010). Thus, some
philosophers have proposed to get rid of the concept altogether
(Priest 1997; Primoratz 1999, ch. 6; Ruse 1988, 197-201).
Recently, however, a new account of perversion in terms of its
inhibiting "shared joy, mutual exploration, self-affirmation,
and union" was offered (Kupfer 2016, 351). But this view seems
to set the bar too high for what counts as non-perverted.



A good account of perversion might have to be prescriptive, capturing
the core of perversion but not necessarily capturing all our beliefs
about it (it should explain why our beliefs are mistaken when they
are). Furthermore, it will likely be a psychological account, a
preference to have sex with or involving certain types of object that
are anti-life, such as bodily waste and corpses, and that are
biologically odd, such as inter-species sexual intercourse.
Evolutionary biology and evolutionary psychology would have to play
crucial roles.


### 2.4 Sex and Technology



The discussion of sexual exclusion and inclusion has led some
philosophers to suggest that sexual needs can be met by sexual robots
that can replace the need for partnered sex, especially if the
technology is advanced enough so that sex with the robots provides an
almost identical experience to sex with another human being (DiNucci
2017; McArthur 2017). This raises a few philosophical questions of its
own. First, if the robots are sophisticated enough, they might be
persons, which means that they, too, might have rights to sexual
autonomy, which takes us back to the same issues with rights to
partnered sex. It also raises the general question of how to morally
interact with them (Nyholm 2022; Petersen 2017).



Second, there are feminist concerns as to what these robots would look
like: if they are meant to "appeal to a stereotypical male
gaze," then "their use might encourage or exacerbate the
objectification and dehumanization of actual women" (Liberman
2022, 458). Another feminist concern, regardless of the robots'
look, is that ease of sex with them, and their inability to genuinely
refuse sex, might also entrench sexist attitudes toward women,
especially that of male entitlement to sex (Danaher, Earp, and
Sandberg 2017; Richardson 2005).



Issues with sex robots do not exhaust those of sex and technology.
Another has to do with the effects on our lives of the use of dating
and hook up apps, weighing their benefits and their costs. While such
apps have allowed people to meet each other with more ease and to be
selective in their choices, some worry that they allow them to be
*too* selective, abetting lookism and racist desires (McArthur
2022a and 2022b; see also Klincewicz, Frank, and Jane 2022). Neil
McArthur argues that the benefits are greater than the costs, many of
which can, anyway, be fixed (2022a, 2022b).



McArthur also argues that technology has given rise to a new sexual
identity--digisexuality. Digisexuals are "people for whom
advanced technologies are an integral part of their preferred sexual
experience, and who might not see the need for human sexual partners
in order to have fulfilling sex" (2022a, 342). McArthur thinks
that new identities are a good thing, because they allow like-minded
people to find each other, and such identities can help usher in legal
and social protections (if needed).



In addition to robots and apps, a third issue with sexual technology
are "Internet-mediated haptic sex toys capable of remote
transmission of tactile sensation" (Arrell 2022, 586). Such
technologies have a large array of benefits, but they raise their own
problems, such as third parties hacking the systems and thus having
sex by deception or assaulting one or more of the parties to the
systems, and partners claiming to be something other than who they
are, such that even if one is not deceived that one is having sex
with, say, John, who John says he is, is not who he actually is
(Sparrow and Karas 2020).



Virtual reality and augmented reality technologies (or, more
generally, extended reality technologies) are, according to Robbie
Arrell, more likely than androids to be the future because they are
cheaper, multi-purposed, can be moved around and stored more easily,
and they are but a short step from current pornography technology
(2022, 595). Although these technologies have benefits, they raise the
moral worries of deepfakes and the possibility of people coming to
prefer sex through them than with real-life sex partners (Arrell 2022,
595-596).


## 3. The Value of Sex



What is the value of sex? How important (or valuable!) is this value?
Procreation, love, and pleasure are obvious answers to the first
question. Sex is usually the way to procreate, so sex is valuable
insofar as procreation is valuable. But this value is instrumental,
and it is contingent given technology's ability to separate
procreation from sex. There is also anti-natalism (Schopenhauer 1851,
1859, ch. 46; Benatar 2006, 2015), which implies that sex has negative
value in its procreative aspect. The value of sex in regard to
procreation is thus precarious.



Another instrumental value of sex is that *X*'s sexual
desire for *Y* can (help) cause *X* to love *Y*
(Bertocci 1949, ch. 2). Here, sex's value is contingent on
love's, and, despite sounding strange, the value of romantic
love, especially in its early, passionate stages, is not obvious given
its negative effects on the lover and others. Still, if sex leads to
the settled stage of love (via the passionate one), it is valuable for
that. Sex can also express love and affection for one's partner
and cement their relationship. Natasha McKeever argues that many goods
of sex--pleasure, union, intimacy, and care--are shared with
those of love, so sexual interaction enhances and strengthens the love
(McKeever 2016; see also McKeever 2017, but see Vannoy 1980: ch. 1).
Even if true, all this still makes sex's value dependent on and
instrumental to love's, especially since the two are very
different (Goldman 1977, 272-275; Soble 2008, ch. 9 [which adds
marriage to the mix]; Vannoy 1980, 7-12).



Does sex have intrinsic value? If it does, it is probably sexual
pleasure, as-sensation or as-enjoyment, a pleasure that provides
people with a crucial motive for having sex, often with drastic
consequences. So then how valuable is the pleasure of sex? Perhaps we
should regard our appetite for sex like we do that for food to avoid
obsessing about it (Russell 1929 [1970, 289]). But can we go
further?



People spend much time pursuing projects and activities they enjoy or
consider worthwhile. Some do so only when time, work, or family time
permit, and some do so much of the time (they are, say, independently
wealthy). Writing, pursuing Hollywood or Bollywood stardom, playing
chess, swimming, traveling, and, of course, building a family are
examples. Other than philosophical far-fetched examples of worthless
pursuits (counting blades of grass, collecting bottle caps), most
projects and activities have *some* worth, unless we are
willing to condemn most human beings of having worthless lives.
Perhaps some projects are more worthwhile than others (though how to
argue for this is difficult), but almost all have some worth, and an
intellectual one at that, including what many might consider to be
mentally passive, such as watching reality television or reading junk
fiction (Carroll 1998, esp. ch. 1 and 2).



Now consider *X*, whose life project is the pursuit of sexual
pleasures. *X* says,



> 
> 
> I am young, moderately good-looking, and, with current technology, I
> can easily sexually hook up with others. I enjoy sex, and it makes me
> feel good. In between bouts of sex, I can see friends, go to the gym,
> movies, whatever. But my deepest enjoyment--my life-plan, to use
> philosophical jargon--is to pursue the pleasures of sex.
> 
> 
> 



Is there something we can say to prove *X* wrong, especially if
*X* has the talent for something considered more important?
Perhaps we can claim that pursuing sex is not as worthy as reading
Russian literature, but even here we are on insecure ground.



One can argue that *X* is not using *X*'s
intellectual powers. But this underestimates the reliance on intellect
in sexual pursuits or presumes that such use is unimportant.
Alternatively, one can argue that *X* is not using
*X*'s intellectual powers deeply or in a theoretical way.
But this would rule out many a life as good. One can argue that there
are more important things in life than pursuing sexual pleasure. But
*X* need not live without friends, family, and other important
things present in normal lives. One can argue that sex objectifies, so
it is wrong to make it central to one's life. But unless one
were a die-hard Kantian, the objectification involved in sex can be
redeemed by other factors.



One can argue that sexual sensory pleasure "will not be at the
center of a rational life plan," and that these pleasures are
"intermittent and short-lived," their value ultimately
depending "entirely on the interpersonal relationships into
which they fit and which constitute their context" (Goldman
2016: 98). But it is unclear why the pleasures' brevity and
intermittency are problems. One can argue that someone who prefers
masturbation to sex with others "could reflect a failure to
understand the importance and value of sex and sexual pleasure"
(Scanlon 1998, 175) because the importance of sex is its expression in
relations with other people (Scanlon seems not to have in mind casual
or promiscuous sex). But *X* can have affectionate sexual
relationships with others, and friendships, etc., with different
others. Even casual hookups have their bonding aspects. Finally, one
can argue that sex "achieves a level of passion" with
"no equal in other forms of interaction," especially when
it occurs between lovers



> 
> 
> it defines a most significant moment of goodness between two people,
> where each achieves a most profound moment of affirmation and
> satisfaction that is inextricably tied to the endeavor to please the
> other (Thomas 1999, 59).
> 
> 
> 



But note how the affirmation and satisfaction here can as easily apply
to passionate yet love-less sex.



Thus, even if pursuing sexual pleasure is not as intellectually
stimulating as reading classical Arabic poetry, it is not worthless,
whether intellectually or non-intellectually, and it is on a par with
many other pursuits that people undertake that are far from having
intellectual depth. Moreover,



> 
> 
> [I]sn't being a provider of sexual pleasure an important and
> valuable attribute, one to be cherished? Maybe we should construct a
> theory of human dignity based on our sexual capacities ...
> instead of looking for something "finer" beyond or above
> the sexual (Soble 2002, 58-59).
> 
> 
> 



If *X* conducts *X*'s life morally, and if
*X* develops *some* talents or hobbies for those rainy
days (sure to come) when *X* is no longer sexually desirable
and *X*'s friends are busy with other things, then
*X*'s life is not less worthwhile than most human lives.
Claiming otherwise is philosophically haughty and pretentious.