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Yeah, that's right, I said it. I just finished my Foucault paper - in a little over an hour, thank you very much. And, aside from the conclusion, which I think is a little dumpy, it's actually a fairly descent paper. I'm posting it here mostly for me, but feel free to read it (it's a little over 3 pages long, double paced). It's about the repression of sexuality, and the ramifications of it.
Did you ever hear the joke about the nun who walked into a bar? Everyone else has. It seems that human beings, as individuals as well as societies, are constantly trying to hear the latest joke, story, or anecdote about a nun, an elderly woman, a lawyer, or even their next door neighbor. And, more often the not, the dirtier – that is, the more sexual – the joke is, the better it is. We appear to have a natural, innate, drive towards speaking, writing, or knowing about things we’re not “supposed to.” It’s human nature, psychologists have found, to socialize with, converse with, and to study other people and their behavior. But when – and why – did we start becoming so interested in sex? And why is it such a big deal if we are talking about it; sex, after all, is human nature as well, isn’t it?
Foucault argues that we didn’t actually start becoming interested in sex – we just never stopped. He claims that human history has always been full of sexual topics and content, we just aren’t supposed to know about it. Around the 17th and 18th centuries – the beginning of the Victorian era – a censure program began on virtually every aspect of life, particularly and most-noted in the area of sex and sexuality. Men and women were no longer allowed to speak freely about the topic of sex, unless they were heterosexual, married, and the conversation took place in the bedroom. Public forums were could no longer include topics and ideas related to the subject. Even literature and materials that included these topics were no longer thought proper to read or possess. At least, that’s what we’ve been told. Foucault, in explaining his “repression hypothesis” tells us that this censure, or the act of repressing sexual expression and communication, actually brought about more conversation, discussion, and social interaction about this idea.
This “repression” of sexuality and sexual discourse came about primarily as a result of the church’s interference – namely the catholic faith, though this could also include any other religious sanction in which a confession was necessary. The church began a wide campaign to obliterate sex from society, reserving it only for the process of which it was “intended” – procreation. The idea was that the only time sex should be talked about is with one’s spouse – husband or wife, respectively – or with one’s doctor, and most importantly, with one’s priest as confessor. The act of taking sex from the “streets,” or normal conversation, and taking it into an office, bedroom, or confessional, actually began a sexual explosion of sorts.
Since people were no longer supposed to talk about sex openly, and because it was now thought improper, impure, and morally deconstructive, society as a whole had to find ways to make it stop happening. Literature began pouring out knowledge about how to avoid sexual contact, how to stay “clean” and how not to fall prey to one’s desires. Forums began speaking about how to remove sexuality from schools, children, and society as a whole. It’s because of all this discourse that scientists and psychologists began researching the topic extensively for the first time, publishing more and more work on the nature of sex and sexuality. Because of this act of repression, there was now a wealth of knowledge and more conversation about sex and sexuality than ever before.
Foucault calls the confession – the idea, as well as the act – the instigator for this ironic course of events. Confession is what first called for the censure of issues of sex and sexuality. Originally beginning with religious confession, when one goes into a box with a priest, tells him of all one’s transgressions, gets absolved, and is guilt free for another week, the idea of confession soon swept into the medical field by way of physical examinations, and most popularly, psychiatry. In either of these situations, the act, operation, and effect was the same. A person would enter the office or confessional to seek help – whether that included a diagnosis of mental or physical illness, or to be absolved of their sins. The confessor – doctor, psychiatrist, or priest – would then ask the confessee – the person seeking help – what exactly their problem was. The person seeking help would tell them exactly, and with vivid and graphic detail so as not to leave anything out, what was “wrong” with them. The confessor would then bestow upon them absolution or diagnosis, and thus, the person would be “cured.”
The act of confessing represents a greater idea: the shift of power. Foucault’s idea of power is that it resides in discourse – conversation, talking. Thus, the “repression” that was or wasn’t happening in society at the time was actually about this idea of power. The church, in effect, was trying to reign in that power by censuring this discourse about sex. Therefore, the people with the most power were the ones that were “allowed” to speak about it, such as the doctors and priests, have knowledge of it, and be able to “cure” it. By confessing, a person was actually shifting power from society to the person they were confessing to, because only the person absolving or curing them had the power to do so. And this power returns to repression: by tightening the lock on the candy jar, so to speak, the person who has the key holds the power.
So in telling our jokes about nuns and talking peanuts, we are demonstrating power, not only by resisting the repression we’re supposed be governed by, but also simply in talking about it. This is certainly an ironic twist of fate, the fact that by repressing discourse about sex, it was inadvertently talked about and sought after even more than previously. But then again, anyone who’s ever been around a three year old knows this: by taking something away from him or her, you’re actually making them want it more and making them work harder to get it. By taking away conversation and social interaction about sex and sexuality, it only made people talk about it more, want it more, and study it more.
Did you ever hear the joke about the nun who walked into a bar? Everyone else has. It seems that human beings, as individuals as well as societies, are constantly trying to hear the latest joke, story, or anecdote about a nun, an elderly woman, a lawyer, or even their next door neighbor. And, more often the not, the dirtier – that is, the more sexual – the joke is, the better it is. We appear to have a natural, innate, drive towards speaking, writing, or knowing about things we’re not “supposed to.” It’s human nature, psychologists have found, to socialize with, converse with, and to study other people and their behavior. But when – and why – did we start becoming so interested in sex? And why is it such a big deal if we are talking about it; sex, after all, is human nature as well, isn’t it?
Foucault argues that we didn’t actually start becoming interested in sex – we just never stopped. He claims that human history has always been full of sexual topics and content, we just aren’t supposed to know about it. Around the 17th and 18th centuries – the beginning of the Victorian era – a censure program began on virtually every aspect of life, particularly and most-noted in the area of sex and sexuality. Men and women were no longer allowed to speak freely about the topic of sex, unless they were heterosexual, married, and the conversation took place in the bedroom. Public forums were could no longer include topics and ideas related to the subject. Even literature and materials that included these topics were no longer thought proper to read or possess. At least, that’s what we’ve been told. Foucault, in explaining his “repression hypothesis” tells us that this censure, or the act of repressing sexual expression and communication, actually brought about more conversation, discussion, and social interaction about this idea.
This “repression” of sexuality and sexual discourse came about primarily as a result of the church’s interference – namely the catholic faith, though this could also include any other religious sanction in which a confession was necessary. The church began a wide campaign to obliterate sex from society, reserving it only for the process of which it was “intended” – procreation. The idea was that the only time sex should be talked about is with one’s spouse – husband or wife, respectively – or with one’s doctor, and most importantly, with one’s priest as confessor. The act of taking sex from the “streets,” or normal conversation, and taking it into an office, bedroom, or confessional, actually began a sexual explosion of sorts.
Since people were no longer supposed to talk about sex openly, and because it was now thought improper, impure, and morally deconstructive, society as a whole had to find ways to make it stop happening. Literature began pouring out knowledge about how to avoid sexual contact, how to stay “clean” and how not to fall prey to one’s desires. Forums began speaking about how to remove sexuality from schools, children, and society as a whole. It’s because of all this discourse that scientists and psychologists began researching the topic extensively for the first time, publishing more and more work on the nature of sex and sexuality. Because of this act of repression, there was now a wealth of knowledge and more conversation about sex and sexuality than ever before.
Foucault calls the confession – the idea, as well as the act – the instigator for this ironic course of events. Confession is what first called for the censure of issues of sex and sexuality. Originally beginning with religious confession, when one goes into a box with a priest, tells him of all one’s transgressions, gets absolved, and is guilt free for another week, the idea of confession soon swept into the medical field by way of physical examinations, and most popularly, psychiatry. In either of these situations, the act, operation, and effect was the same. A person would enter the office or confessional to seek help – whether that included a diagnosis of mental or physical illness, or to be absolved of their sins. The confessor – doctor, psychiatrist, or priest – would then ask the confessee – the person seeking help – what exactly their problem was. The person seeking help would tell them exactly, and with vivid and graphic detail so as not to leave anything out, what was “wrong” with them. The confessor would then bestow upon them absolution or diagnosis, and thus, the person would be “cured.”
The act of confessing represents a greater idea: the shift of power. Foucault’s idea of power is that it resides in discourse – conversation, talking. Thus, the “repression” that was or wasn’t happening in society at the time was actually about this idea of power. The church, in effect, was trying to reign in that power by censuring this discourse about sex. Therefore, the people with the most power were the ones that were “allowed” to speak about it, such as the doctors and priests, have knowledge of it, and be able to “cure” it. By confessing, a person was actually shifting power from society to the person they were confessing to, because only the person absolving or curing them had the power to do so. And this power returns to repression: by tightening the lock on the candy jar, so to speak, the person who has the key holds the power.
So in telling our jokes about nuns and talking peanuts, we are demonstrating power, not only by resisting the repression we’re supposed be governed by, but also simply in talking about it. This is certainly an ironic twist of fate, the fact that by repressing discourse about sex, it was inadvertently talked about and sought after even more than previously. But then again, anyone who’s ever been around a three year old knows this: by taking something away from him or her, you’re actually making them want it more and making them work harder to get it. By taking away conversation and social interaction about sex and sexuality, it only made people talk about it more, want it more, and study it more.
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From:
no subject
You should so read No Laughing Matter: the Origin of the Dirty Joke. It'll fuck with your head. So funny.
From:
no subject
I've heard about that book, I'll have to check it out.