Is pornography driving men crazy?

Al Jazeera ^ | Julu 2nd 2011 | Naomi Wolf

[Cyropaedia]

Naomi Wolfe working for Al Jareeza. I bet the supreme irony of the situation is lost on Ms. Wolfe because of her staunch westernized feminist ideology.

I was talking to some graduate student, who spent time in Morocco, and she tried to tell me that is was possible to reconcile Islamist polygamy with modern ( westernized ) feminism.

Needless to say, I was at a loss for words.

[CodeToad]

Is BEING IN PORN driving girls crazy?

[Revolting cat!]

Is women’s craziness driving men to porn?

[txhurl]

I read a few years ago that porn-free homes produced porn-free children all throughout their lives, but porn-infested homes shackled the children raised there to porn until death.

I believe it.

[little jeremiah]

Placemark.

[TheDingoAteMyBaby]

I had a different take on the article. It sounds like Wolfe sees the wisdom in biblical sexual ethics:

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I am not advocating a return to the days of hiding female sexuality, but I am noting that the power and charge of sex are maintained when there is some sacredness to it, when it is not on tap all the time. In many more traditional cultures, it is not prudery that leads them to discourage men from looking at pornography. It is, rather, because these cultures understand male sexuality and what it takes to keep men and women turned on to one another over time—to help men, in particular, to, as the Old Testament puts it, “rejoice with the wife of thy youth; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times.” These cultures urge men not to look at porn because they know that a powerful erotic bond between parents is a key element of a strong family.

And feminists have misunderstood many of these prohibitions.

I will never forget a visit I made to Ilana, an old friend who had become an Orthodox Jew in Jerusalem. When I saw her again, she had abandoned her jeans and T-shirts for long skirts and a head scarf. I could not get over it. Ilana has waist-length, wild and curly golden-blonde hair. “Can’t I even see your hair?” I asked, trying to find my old friend in there. “No,” she demurred quietly. “Only my husband,” she said with a calm sexual confidence, “ever gets to see my hair.”

When she showed me her little house in a settlement on a hill, and I saw the bedroom, draped in Middle Eastern embroideries, that she shares only with her husband—the kids are not allowed—the sexual intensity in the air was archaic, overwhelming. It was private. It was a feeling of erotic intensity deeper than any I have ever picked up between secular couples in the liberated West. And I thought: Our husbands see naked women all day—in Times Square if not on the Net. Her husband never even sees another woman’s hair.

She must feel, I thought, so hot.