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The Wheel is a quarterly journal that strives to articulate the Gospel “intelligently and constructively for the 21st
Century” from Orthodox perspectives. It offers an accessibly thoughtful
and well-researched platform for Orthodox self-expressions and often
features world-renown contributors. Andrew Louth edited this volume,
which “initiates discussion” (14) concerning Orthodoxy and sexuality.
I
commend the editorial decision to incorporate vehemently disparate
viewpoints as an overture to a multi-partisan and long overdue
conversation. I treat here some of the salient discussions in this
issue, though I warmly encourage reading it in full.
Louth calls attention to an increase in cultural sexualization and a
positively correlated “coolness and lack of physicality” (17) that runs
the risk of reducing all human relations to sexual terms. Behr proposes a
different vision whereby Christian asceticism (married or not) ought to
sublimate sexual difference by becoming human in Christ (28). On Behr’s
reading, sexual difference corresponds to being “in Adam, not in
Christ” (29). This framework invites deeper reflection on human
embodiment. Kelaidis’ article calls for just such an engagement with
“the human body as a site of divine revelation” (33), but unfortunately
it sometimes deals in platitudes (e.g., its handling of Platonic dualism
and “Gnosticism,” pp. 34–35) and I would suggest that the author’s
tacit disappointment (33) that Orthodoxy has not produced something of
the same “scope and magnitude” (33) as John Paul II’s Theologia corporis
is misguided. Collectively, the many extant Orthodox meditations on the
body and sexuality are tesserae in a kaleidoscopically shifting mosaic,
whose complexity hints—and no more—at the mystery of embodied
personhood.
Of the controversial pieces, I found the essay by Papanikolaou and
the one co-authored by Corbman/Payne/Tucker the best argued and most
consistent, while Yannaras’, Thermos’, Nassif’s, and Sanfilippo’s
present difficulties.
Yannaras emphasizes freedom from nature and self-transcendence as
constitutive dimensions of ecclesial personhood (72&ff.). I found it
surprising, therefore, that he abandoned his premises to condemn
homosexuality on naturalistic foundations, calling same-sex acts “fruitless”
(80, emphasis mine). Ironically, his premises should logically result
in affirming non-heteronormative relations as “freedom from biological
necessity” par excellence, given that they transcend “naturalistic
necessities” better than the alternative. Surely, few can support this
conclusion.
Thermos’ argument is equally ironic. He grounds his opposition to same-sex marriage on Maximos’ distinction between logos (substantial principle) and tropos (mode of existence). For him, logos
implies a divine affirmation of heteronormativity—but this is the exact
opposite of Maximos’ position. The Confessor believes that through
virtue, “the particularity of male and female, which in no way was linked to the original logos of the divine plan concerning human generation” can be “shaken off from nature” so to “become just a human being, following the divine intention, not being divided by the appellation of ‘male’ and ‘female’” (Amb 41.3,
emphases mine). Heteronormativity cannot be founded on Maximos’ thought
because for him, sexual binarity was the first division of nature that
Christ overcame (Amb 41.3&ff). Gallaher’s conclusion from
examining Greco-Latin natural law(s) fits well here: we must be ready to
embrace a “jaundiced opinion of heterosexual relations” to condemn
homosexual relations (59). Papanikolaou enriches this debate by
proposing that sex itself can function as marital asceticism for
“learning to love” (97), which transcends the utilitarian dichotomy of
sex as unitive or procreative.
Nassif’s piece reflects some more negative aspects of conservative
American Evangelical sensitivities, likely cultivated over his sustained
conversations with them. For instance, he on principle expresses his
skepticism of the scientific process (100), suggests that the
effectivity of sex conversion therapy is an ongoing debate in the
scientific community (100), and he appeals to (thoroughly un-Orthodox)
“plain sense” Scriptural hermeneutics (99). But his most questionable
claim is that “gender identity continues in the resurrection” (101) and
that “full humanity” is only possible as male or female (104; cf. Mt
22:30; Gal 3:28; Maximos, Amb 41.3&ff). These last assertions work only by succumbing to historical-theological amnesia.
I consider these three “traditionalist” contributions a disservice to
the intellectual possibilities for “conservative” Orthodox Christians,
who may wish to await more compelling accounts of human sexuality and
marriage.
Sanfilippo’s piece implicitly disagrees with these three but is
nonetheless uncompelling. The author wishes to draw attention to the
potentially homosexual expressions of Fr Florensky’s life—for which, to
be sure, there is meaningful evidence—but his analysis of the texts is
problematic. For example, his exposition of the poem Два рыцаря (Two Knights)
as a homosexual encounter will likely strike those with firsthand
knowledge of Slavic literature and culture as affected and unconvincing.
He reads a jousting match as a penetrative homosexual encounter by
claiming that the knights remove their armor (nowhere stated in the
poem) and “‘break their spears’ with each other” (67). But the line in
question depicts a different context: “I will break spears with you in
honor of the Lady” (сломим копья с тобою в честь Дамы, stanza 1.4).[1] It is unclear who the “Lady” is (Florensky’s sister Olga?), but surely, queering texts needs no female erasure to make a point.
Corbman/Payne/Tucker penned the most “progressive,” and arguably the
most controversial, piece. Their article must be engaged carefully,
regardless of politico-religious allegiances, because it rightly shifts
attention to Orthodox history and theology. Their argument is that
rationales against blessing same-sex marriages in Orthodoxy rely on a
“false identification of marriage, the nuclear family, and binary-gender
anthropology as core components of Christian theology and practice”
(107). They note that universal ecclesial marriage recognition in the
Roman Empire became official only in 893, while slave marriage was
legalized as late as 1095 (114). Simultaneously, they contend (via
Gregory Nazianzen) that the Trinity’s radical transcendence precludes
its analogical appropriation to ground human relationships, including
marriage (109). Instead, they describe marriage as “a context (one among
many) in which conformity to Christ can be perfected” (114). Thus, they
conclude that absent compelling theological and historical arguments,
the Church ought to bless “the marriages of all who seek to follow Jesus Christ” (116).
I have not done justice to this volume nor have I mentioned every
contribution. Rather, I have threaded together the most closely related
and contemporarily salient pieces, which focus on the validity of
blessing non-heteronormative relationships. I would like to add two
further considerations.
First, we draw imaginary lines between modern and premodern Christian
marriage practices at our own peril. We cannot conflate modern and
premodern marriage practices just because they were constituted by opposite
sexes any more than we can conflate modern same-sex partnerships and
premodern two-person monastic partnerships just because they were
comprised by the same sex; they were all different social
phenomena. Most premodern marriages blessed by the Church were
involuntary (certainly for most women, probably for some men) and often
featured substantial age disparities. Most married women’s hagiographies
clearly depict their protagonists’ utter reticence to intramarital intercourse;
it is naïve to attribute this reticence exclusively to pious aversions
to sex. Rather, saintly married women frequently attained holiness
precisely by eluding heteronormative strictures through creative
strategies of resistance: Macrina the Younger argued that (re)marriage
would betray her betrothed (deceased before consummation); Matrona of
Perge eluded her abusive husband by assuming a male identity and
entering a (male) monastery; Walatta Petros withheld sex from her
husband following his apostasy to Catholicism and later divorced him.
Second, given this evidence, it is unsurprising that most Orthodox
saints attained holiness through non-heteronormative ways of life: as
anchorites, cenobites, etc. The historical-theological witness of the
Church challenges us to consider why these lives were salvific and
deifying and how they might be applicable to (all) contemporary
marriages. Papanikolaou’s article may offer preliminary answers to this
challenge, but as this volume’s strengths and shortcomings indicate,
much work still lies ahead.
[1] Reading сломим as a colloquial “plurisingular” circumlocution.
Luis Salés is Visiting Assistant Professor of Early Christianity
at Scripps College in Claremont, CA. His most recent publications
include a series of articles on Gregory of Nyssa, Maximos the Confessor,
and Yahya ibn ‘Adi, as well as an English translation of Maximos’ Chapters on Theology and a Spanish translation of Maximos’ Mystagogy and Chapters on Theology.
Public Orthodoxy seeks to promote conversation by providing a
forum for diverse perspectives on contemporary issues related to
Orthodox Christianity. The positions expressed in this essay are solely
the author’s and do not necessarily represent the views of the editors
or the Orthodox Christian Studies Center.
