Does Sexually Explicit Entertainment Affect Us?
Exposing the myth of impassive viewership
These days, visual stories of all genres can include explicitly sexual content. Over the years, I have focused on the ill effects of such content on mainstream actors, who are required to sexually perform for the camera (and, by extension, a large viewing audience).
Still, pornified content does have an effect on audiences too. This point is more frequently addressed by my fellow conservatives, and is worth addressing here—albeit, with a narrower focus.
Concerns about sexualized nudity and sex scenes are often raised in relation to children and teens, whose emotional and physical development make them more impressionable. When it comes to adults, however, we find little concern expressed.
In fact, many moviegoers insist that sexualized content in media (much of which is functionally softcore porn) doesn’t bother them. After all, can’t mature adults clearly tell the difference between fantasy and reality? Can’t we avoid being unduly influenced by the fantasy?
Let’s answer these questions by considering two factors.
1. The Influence of Visual Media
It would be hard to find craftsmen in the visual arts who’d argue that stories do not affect us, and that film and television are only good for cheap thrills and empty entertainment.
Yes, there’s plenty of cheap and empty material out there. But storytelling can change and move and affect us in numerous ways. It can make us cry, flinch, and cheer.
In fact, when we emotionally resonate with a story, and the characters within that story, we experience a phenomenon known as “transportation.” In the words of neuroeconomist Paul J. Zak,
Transportation is an amazing neural feat. We watch a flickering image that we know is fictional, but…parts of our brain simulate the emotions we intuit [a character] must be feeling. And we begin to feel those emotions, too.
This emotional response even has physiological ramifications. For example, comedies can lead to dilated blood vessels and decreased blood pressure, whereas horror films can cause an increase in adrenaline and cortisol levels, and thus an increase in blood pressure. Our entire being can be affected by a story—and not even necessarily just the well-told ones.
The reality is that the visual arts are immensely powerful. Artists and audiences tout this power all the time—until it comes to the depiction of sex. Then (and, ostensibly, only then) does the power of film become insignificant.
Conventional wisdom says that when we watch sexualized material, we are objective and detached viewers. The sex isn’t real, so it doesn’t “bother” us. Once the sex is over, however, we are reengaged: we laugh when a character takes a spill down the stairs in a comedy (even if the fall isn’t real), or cry when a beloved character dies (even though the death isn’t real), or feel vindicated when the bad guy gets his comeuppance (even though his crimes aren’t real). Onscreen sex is apparently in a category all by itself, however—a weak and impotent category, leaving audiences unaffected and unscathed.
That line of reasoning smacks of fantasy—not the good kind, but rather the wishful thinking, reality-denying kind.
Consider also that “steamy” and “sexy” are two adjectives typically used to describe sexually explicit content. These terms are so ubiquitous that their true meaning can be overlooked. The word “steamy” means “erotic”—i.e., arousing sexual desire or excitement in others. Similarly, if something is labeled “sexy,” it means it “causes sexual arousal in people who are exposed to it or it is designed to emphasize sexual matters” (according to Dictionary.com).
So even the way we talk about hypersexualized scenes (as causing sexual arousal) points to their effect on adult—not child—audience members.
Take, for example, the way some critics refer to the Netflix series Bridgerton:1
“steamy sex scenes” (Chicago Reader)
“steamy” and “hot” (CinemaBlend)
“steamy” (CNN)
“steamy” (Insider)
“incredibly steamy” (ScreenRant)
“steamy sex scenes” (Elle)
“steamy,” “horny,” and “libidinous” (Entertainment Weekly)
“delightfully horny” and “sexy” (Collider)
“sexy” (ABC News)
“sexy” (IndieWire)
“sexy” (New York Times)
“sexy period romps” (The Spectator)
“sexy” (Variety)
Other cultural commentary on Bridgerton may not use the specific terms above, but it can still communicate the same sentiments. Stylist Magazine, for example, says the show includes “naughty titillation” (and parenthetically adds “dear g[*]d it is hot”). And both Salon and The Spectator go so far as to compare Bridgerton, even if only fleetingly, to porn—a comparison bolstered by the fact that the show’s sex scenes have appeared on numerous porn sites.2
Just because adults aren’t impressionable in the same way children are, it doesn’t mean adults are immune to being influenced, affected, or aroused by the entertainment they watch.
2. The Unreliability of Calloused Senses
Ours is a society inundated with sexual imagery—which has, to one degree or another, desensitized us to both its presence and influence. Consequently, one prevalent cultural assumption is that a mature person can enjoy a piece of entertainment without being scandalized by hypersexualized content. If there is any shame involved, it isn’t related to watching sexualized nudity and sex scenes, per se, but in being unable to watch them dispassionately.
While it has become popular to consider it morally superior not to be stimulated by sexual stimuli, the reality is the opposite. Such a “susceptibility” is a sign of health and maturity; God designed us to be sexually affected by sexual stimuli. Arguing that sexualized scenes don’t affect us because they don’t constitute “real” sex, or because they are different from the explicitness of hardcore porn, is arguing against how sexual stimulation works.
For example, when a woman performs a strip tease, she isn’t engaging in actual sex, and she might not even become fully nude during the process. Nevertheless, her actions are intentionally and undeniably titillating. No one in his right mind would suggest otherwise (unless, of course, the striptease is a scene in a movie—which, some would argue, neutralizes the titillating elements).
The proliferation of sexual content in our entertainment has hindered our ability to appreciate the full scope of the sexual response cycle. It is not just the narrow, literal act of copulation which God designed to be pleasurable and stimulating. God has given us plenty of sexy and satisfying joys within marriage (including what people call “foreplay” and “afterglow”). Pretending that sexual actions and sounds—and their depiction in audio/visual forms—aren’t inherently stimulating is a reductionist view of God’s gift of sex.
Or, to put it another way: imperviousness to sexual stimuli is a defect, not a badge of honor.
In fact, for many of those ostensibly not bothered or aroused by onscreen sex acts, it may be an indication that they have exercised little to no restraint in what they allow themselves to watch, choosing a steady visual diet that has a deadening effect on the soul.
In such a situation, when a mainstream film’s sex scene doesn’t “affect” you, it is because you are the weaker brother, not the stronger one.
“Always Let Your Conscience be Your Guide”?
Even the Apostle Paul knew the human conscience isn’t infallible: “For I am not aware of anything against myself [that is, my conscience], but I am not thereby acquitted” (1 Corinthians 4:4). It is ultimately the Lord who is our judge, and we must calibrate our consciences according to the judgements of Scripture.
On the surface, a calloused conscience and a clear conscience may look similar: in either case, you feel guilt-free about taking, or avoiding, a particular course of action. This peace of mind and heart may be a sign that everything is right—and it may be a sign that something is horribly wrong.
So how can you tell the difference between a clear and a calloused conscience? One step in the right direction is to question your assumptions:
Was there a time when “sexy” and “steamy” forms of entertainment did affect (or bother) you? If so, what changed?
Why do you condemn pornography wholesale but excuse films and TV shows that include softcore porn?3
Why can you freely admit the influential power of visual stories—but not when it comes to hypersexualized content?
What does a defense of watching sex scenes communicate in light of the fact that many such scenes show up on porn sites?
If you ask these questions sincerely, transparently, and prayerfully, you may find your soul cut asunder with the blade of God’s gracious truth. And while the wound will hurt at first, it will also bring with it a cleansing and freeing power, better equipping you to experience and demonstrate “a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith” (1 Timothy 1:5).
The real question regarding sexually explicit content isn’t, “Does it affect us?” but rather “How does it affect us?” And the follow-up question is like unto the first: “What are we going to do about it?”
This is a revised version of an article entitled, Let’s Not Excuse Movie and TV Porn For the Sake of ‘Redemptive’ Stories, originally published at Lorehaven.com.
This sampling precludes any compilation articles that list and/or rank all the sex scenes in the show—including one Cosmopolitan article (which I won’t link to due to the inclusion of racy pictures) in which Taylor Andrews says Bridgerton is “a perfect show to masturbate to.”
Similarly, sex therapist Amanda Holmberg writes about Bridgerton as “Lady Porn” with “very titillating sexual scenes” that audiences can use to arouse themselves.
Some might want to quibble over terms, but much of the sexualized nudity and “simulated sex” in mainstream entertainment fits the basic definition of softcore (vs. hardcore) porn: “portraying sexual acts in a manner that is highly suggestive rather than explicit.”