Let’s talk about sex (and God) | | |
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My father was a Benedictine monk for 14 years. My mother was a Servite nun for almost the same length of time. While they had been “inside”, they had lived a life that had, in some ways, changed little in a thousand years: prayers, chanting, habits, cowls, sandals. When they left, and then married, they handed back those heavy, woollen habits. Leaving religious life is like a very bad divorce: you must go and take nothing with you, not even (perhaps especially, as they are so symbolic) the clothes you stood up in.
I grew up in a house that was, in some ways, rather strange. Where other peoples’ parents listened to pop music in the mornings, my father used to hum Gregorian chants. If he was telling me something (or telling me off) he was as likely to reference a sixth-century monkish handbook as he was anything more modern. Until I was in my teens I considered wearing jeans an almost shockingly modern thing to do. I didn’t necessarily understand everything that I was taught: as a small child I thought that God’s first name was Peter (“Thanks Peter God”).
Having missed the liberalising 1960s by living a life more suited to the 1260s, a certain formal air clung to them. Where friends might call other people’s parents “Charles” or “Mary”, my parents were always “Mr and Mrs Nixey”. But though they were old-fashioned in their manner, they weren’t in their minds. Two of the things that they were most liberal about were sex and atheism (Richard Dawkins, a vocal British non-believer, was a hero in our house). As we grew up, they taught us about sex and contraception in a way that was much more Scandinavian than Catholic.
This, I think, was not despite their religion but because of it. My mother had grown up in Glasgow, where she had seen many women have to cope with litters of six or more children. She had a fathomless contempt for the Catholic Church’s teachings on contraception. It was, in part, a growing disgust that the Church hadn’t modernised these (as many had hoped it would) that she left. She went to teach at a Catholic school. A little later, my father was posted nearby. His abbot warned him about this rebellious former nun when he arrived in the parish: “Watch out for her. She’s trouble.” They fell in love.
Of course, the strangest thing of all about my childhood was that it existed at all: monks and nuns are celibate. Had my parents not left, I wouldn’t be here. I’m glad they met, of course. But I’m also glad that they had been “inside”: it has left me with a lifelong fascination with religion, which I explore in
this week’s article
about sex and Christianity.
What do you find most bizarre, or captivating, about Christianity’s teachings about sex? Write to us at
plottwist@economist.com.
Elsewhere in The Economist this week: | | |
Editor’s picks
Must-reads this week | | |
The Economist recommends
What to read, see and listen to | | |
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What to watch: “Colin from Accounts”, streaming on BBC iPlayer in Britain now and on Paramount+ in America from September 26th. The second season of this Australian comedy is as charming and hilarious as the first. Ash and Gordon (Harriet Dyer and Patrick Brammall, a married couple who write the show as well as star in it) are steadfast in their love for Colin, the disabled dog that brought them together; their relationship, meanwhile, faces all manner of tests. Come for Ms Dyer’s and Mr Brammall’s joyous chemistry and excellent delivery, stay for Lynelle (Helen Thomson), Ash’s monstrous mother.
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What to see: “The Truth About Harry Beck” at the London Transport Museum. Many navigate Britain’s capital using the clean lines of the London Underground map. When the design was proposed in 1931 it felt at once intuitive and revolutionary. But its inventor, Harry Beck, never received the credit he deserves. This play shows how the electrical draughtsman re-imagined geography as a circuit drawing. Beck felt robbed when other designers were later commissioned to update his template. Mind that historical gap.
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What to watch: “A Very Royal Scandal” on Prime Video. The glare from an LED softbox light panel certainly did Prince Andrew no favours. Defending his association with Jeffrey Epstein, a paedophile, he looked pasty and shifty, his answers implausible and arrogant. This portrayal of the prince’s disastrous interview with Emily Maitlis in 2019, hot on the heels of “Scoop”, Netflix’s version, is riveting. Produced by Ms Maitlis, the miniseries offers an intimate portrait of the affair. Prince Andrew (Michael Sheen) comes across as buffoonish. Another trip to Pizza Express in Woking, anyone?
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